Rustic Suite
by Mary Ruth Keller
Summary: Mulder drags Scully down to rural Arkansas to investigate what he believes are UFO-style cattle mutilations and what she thinks are coyote attacks. Along the way, they learn more about themselves, each other, and what makes their partnership work.
1. Prelude

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Note to the reader: The stories listed as authored by Mary Ruth Keller are all in a single universe, the Kuxan Sum Cycle. While each is an investigation that stands alone, they should be read in the following order for the plot and character developments to make the most sense.

**The Caroline Lowenberg Trilogy**

_Sins of the Fathers  
__Xibalba  
__Twelfth Night  
_Saytr Play: _Rustic Suite_

**The Dana Scully Trilogy**

Prologue: _Time Out of Joint  
__Passages in Memory  
_Interlude: _Roman de la Pendrell  
__Archaea  
__Zurvan  
_Saytr Play: _Anath_

**The Sandra Ann Miller Trilogy**

_Chermera_

More following...

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Short Introduction: In this story, I wanted to expand on the Dynamic Duo's interdependent symmetry both on and off work, which some authors have labeled a dance, through a classical musical form, the Suite. I have used as my setting the closest we have to 'sylvan glades,' the rural South, hence the title, _Rustic Suite_. (Think _Pastoral Symphony_.) In the mid-seventeenth century, Johann Jakob Froberger defined a suite as consisting of five basic parts, all in the same key. They were: a prelude, where the underlying themes of the piece are first suggested, followed by four dances of different tempi, an allemande (moderately slow), a courante (moderately fast), a sarabande (very slow), and a gigue (very fast). With time, the dances all slowed down and more were added, until in the Nineteenth Century, almost any multi-part composition that was not a Symphony could be defined as a Suite.

Pushing the envelope, then, I have taken the five parts, in something like their original intentions, and used them as the pacing and structure for my five main sections. An allemande is contrapuntal, with many voices carrying and amplifying the melody. In a courante, the melody shifts only occasionally from the uppermost voice, the soprano, to the lower voices. A sarabande is a stately processional similar in style to all those tunes we march to our graduations by. A gigue (pronounced jig, and the precursor of the same) is fast and furious, with the second part repeating the melody inverted (turned upside down). So much for Music History 101.

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_Rustic Suite_ by Mary Ruth Keller

_Prelude _(in the Key of Canis Major)

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Lowenberg House  
Miami, Florida  
Sunday, January 12, 1997  
7:18 am

Opening her bedroom door, Margaret Scully stepped into the hall, leaving the Pomeranian stretched out on her pillow. She checked to her left as she exited, since from here she could see into her daughter's room, to tell that the bed had not been used. In the morning silence, she heard the television playing softly, so she knew her daughter and Mulder had spent another night in front of the set together.

She sighed, remembering her daughter's vociferous protest from earlier. _We're *partners*, Mom._

Margaret would never understand this distinction they kept making the way his mother and stepfather seemed to. _Oh, children, I *know* you're not physically involved. I admire your decency and restraint, given that we live in a time when people have casual sex on street corners, but really! We mothers can tell some things._ In his own strange way, Fox Mulder obviously worshiped her daughter, while Dana was closer to him than she had been to anyone other than her own father.

Margaret recalled her brief, uncomfortable conversation with the Lowenbergs on this very subject. Caroline had told her some of the horrors her son had endured, so she understood his fears about bonding with others. Using his camp experiences to illustrate how adversity could strengthen a personal bond, diamond hard, Max had warned her about pushing them. His mother had also told her she was unsure whether, even if they had loved each other, she and Bill Mulder could have made the transition successfully from colleagues to spouses.

But Margaret still lacked an important piece of the puzzle. She needed to speak to Fox directly. Now was as good a time as any. She passed through the open doorway into the entertainment center. They were asleep just where she expected them to be, on the long, U-shaped sofa, as yet another man in a T-rex costume pounded around on the screen. _It must be therapeutic for him to watch these old horror films, giving him the distance he needs to laugh at own his fears._ Walking quietly up to the couch, she smiled at the sight. Dana's head lay on a throw pillow partially covering her partner's lap, while he was holding onto her shoulder. Mulder must have retrieved a blanket from the hall closet, for there was one bunched up over her feet and calves.

When she saw that the patches of scrapes on her daughter's arms and legs still oozed, it was all she could do not to go to her with gauze and tape to bandage them. But Dana had said they would heal faster if left exposed, so she refrained. This time, Margaret resolved to approach them as silently as she could, to avoid frightening Fox as she had at Thanksgiving. Bending over him, the relaxation in his face told her he had found a temporary escape into slumber from the demons within and without.

"Fox?"

He opened one hazel eye. "Mrs. Scully!" He reached for her hand. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "We need to talk."

If her daughter's partner had been one of the little red canines that shared his name, he would have slunk down and cringed. "Okay." The voice emerged as an anxious whisper after he released her palm.

Lifting his head off the cushions, he gently squeezed her daughter's shoulder. "Scully?" She moved, but did not awaken. "I need to get up for a minute. I'll be back." He ran his long fingers over her hair, barely disturbing the ochre strands in his gentleness. Standing, he slipped the throw pillow back in place before he walked over to his partner's mother.

Scully hugged the cushion, settling back down. "Mulder?" Her voice, barely above a whisper, quavered.

He returned to kneel beside her, pulling the blanket back up over her body. "It's okay, Scully. I'm just talking with your mother. I'm not running off to chase mutants without you."

Margaret imagined they must have fussed over the coverlet as well, until Dana gave in to his urging.

Her eyes still closed, Scully reached for his shoulder, bumping his face with her fingers before her palm rested limply on its target. "Okay."

After he lowered her arm to the cushion, he rose slowly, turning, with not a little reluctance, to Margaret.

Leaving the room, they walked through the house to the pool deck, where they took seats in two Adirondack chairs painted light blue. Startled by the scraping of the furniture as Margaret and Mulder pulled them closer together, a mockingbird ruffled its feathers before swooping over the clear water.

-o-0-o-

"What is it, Mrs. Scully?" He was upright on the wooden slats, expecting the worst.

Margaret decided not to waste his time. "How do you feel about my daughter, Fox?"

He clenched his fists tightly between his knees. "She's my only real friend, Mrs. Scully." His voice took on a rough edge, as if he were about to cry. "I'm sorry for what happened yesterday. If I had known, I never would have let her go." He reached over to take her hand. "I'd give up my life for hers, just to keep her safe."

Now his head was bowed, his tears falling, so Margaret rubbed his palm with her thumb, letting him have the moment to grieve. Claiming his attention with a gentle shake of his fingers, she smiled softly. "I know that. But, I'm not talking about dying; this is about living."

The flow stopped, caution replaced the pain of near-loss, as he eyed her warily. "Mrs. Scully, I'm not 'in love' with Scully, if that's what you asking about." He dropped her hand to pass both of his over his face. "I was hopelessly in love with Phoebe Green, so I know what it feels like, and I know the difference."

Margaret narrowed her eyes at him. _Do you, really, Fox?_

Mulder took a deep breath. "I trust her implicitly; I respect and value her intelligence and judgment. I don't want another partner, ever. I couldn't imagine coming to work without her there." He raised an eyebrow. "She's kept me from becoming totally lost in the X-Files and my search, kept me grounded and sane, for which I remain deeply in her debt. She's a better friend than I've had at any time in my life before, but I'm not 'in love' with her." He leaned forward. "Does that help?"

Impatient, she shook her head. "I suppose, if I were her father, I would ask your intentions towards my daughter." Mulder stood, facing away from her while he thought. _I've met Captain Scully, and he knows my intentions._ Unconsciously, his eyes tracked the way through the house back to his sleeping partner.

He was silent for so long she rose, then walked around him to see his face. His eyes had never been so haunted and dark. The sorrow and anxiety she saw there made her gasp.

As he became aware of her, he blinked, before focusing on his partner's mother. He began speaking slowly, evenly. "My intentions, are to help her toward her goal to be the best FBI agent she can be, Mrs. Scully." He sat again, running his hand through his hair. "She'll push herself as hard as she can on a case, harder than I do myself at times. But that's how the agency weeds out women, shoves them aside. They load them down with so much work they eventually burn out. I've seen it happen with other women in the Bureau and I don't want to see it happen with Scully. She deserves better."

Margaret gasped at his admission. "Fox, can you *prove* any of this?"

Crossing his arms, he shook his head. "Of course not. But look at what they did to her. Almost fresh out of Quantico, they hand her off to "Spooky" Mulder and imply she's a spy." He tapped his chest for emphasis. "They try to get *me* to do their dirty work for them. Blevins knew the effort to try to rein me in would probably drive us both out of the Bureau, which is certainly what they wanted in the first place." He shrugged. "Maybe they *were* hoping we would 'fall in love,' I don't know. While it's certainly true that agents are discouraged from fraternizing in the Bureau, it's not a firm and fast rule."

Margaret touched his shoulder. "All right, Fox, you're not infatuated with Dana, but you *do* love her, you know."

He coughed.

She could tell he would rather be anywhere than here, be doing anything than having this conversation.

"I know, Mrs. Scully." He was whispering now, fighting his tears again. "But it isn't what you think it is."

Angry, Margaret stood in front of him, even though she knew this sensitive man would feel every nuance of her rage, and cower before it. She decided she needed to use the tone of voice that kept four children obedient and quiet. "Then what kind of love, is it? Tell me. I need to know! I don't want to believe you're the sort of man who would use someone carelessly for your own needs!"

As she had feared, he flinched at her words, so she waited.

-o-0-o-

Lowenberg House  
Miami, Florida  
Sunday, 7:36 am

The early light illuminated green flecks in his eyes while they cleared, after he decided not to hold anything back from Dana Scully's mother. "Never, Mrs. Scully. I could never do anything like, *that*." He rose to pace as he composed his thoughts.

Margaret reached for his arm as he passed her. "Fox."

Facing her, he sighed. "A partnership isn't like any other relationship you might have experienced, Mrs. Scully." He bit his lip for a moment. "My only other long-time partner was a man named Jerry Lamana. Reggie Purdue assigned us to each other. I could never see why; we were as different as night and day, he and I. He was always looking for that big case that would *make* him as an agent, so he kept pushing us into more and more high-profile investigations." He shrugged. "At the time, I was as by-the-book and details-oriented as Scully is now. I didn't need the spotlight the way he did, so I'd work behind the scenes, solving our cases, while he'd handle the paperwork and the presentations. And I'd worry, about everything." He flashed his teeth in self-deprecating grin. "Worse than I do now. Jerry would push and prod me out of that, which is why Reggie put us together, I guess. It worked well, until Patterson pulled me into his elite unit and I had to go solo."

Margaret nodded. "Dana said Jerry was killed shortly after you two began working together."

Mulder found his way over to his Adirondack chair. "Yeah, he was."

She rested her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Fox."

Shoving aside memories of a long night at his computer, obsessively rewinding and reviewing a shocking, gruesome video, Mulder shook his head. "That's okay, Mrs. Scully. I only told you about him because..." He looked up at her, resolute. "Because what Scully and I have is *more* than what Jerry and I did." He leaned back, freeing himself from her touch. "Jer was good for me, but..." He shrugged. "It's so hard to put into words. That's the best way I can describe it. Scully and I are better and more together than Jerry and I were." Sensing Margaret's growing incomprehension, he cast about in his mind for an equivalence she might understand. "I've never had a friendship like what Scully and I share, and it's too important to give it anything other than the best of me. If I had to try to explain it, I'd say it's more like she's my - sister." Frustrated with his incoherence, he dropped his face in his hands.

Margaret knew he was revealing a hard-fought truth to her, one he had wrestled with over many sleepless nights.

As if blocking his sight made the confession easier, he continued speaking through his fingers. "I knew it first when she was taken. I kept waking up saying to myself, 'Now you've lost both of them.'"

She moved closer, waiting.

Mulder dropped his hands into his lap before he stared at the grey stones under his feet. "But she came back, just as strong and beautiful as when she walked into the basement almost five years ago. She's amazing, Mrs. Scully, the way she's fought back twice now. I'm not sure I'd have her strength, but I hope Sam does too until I can find her."

She rested her hand on his back.

He looked up at her, penitent. "I know that's not what you want, but I would like to think that if Sam were with me, I could be as comfortable with her as I am with Scully."

Thinking how deeply entwined their lives were, Margaret ran her hand over his short, dark hair. _Caroline and Max are right._ Although these two had pressing problems that made pursuing a romantic relationship an untenable option, neither would they let anything separate them again. _Let it be, then._ "That's all right, Max kept telling me not to push you, but to let you two find your own way."

Mulder stood as well. "Max spoke to you about this?" Crossing his arms, he turned to watch the breakers rolling up the beach. "Does everyone talk about us?" When she touched his back, he stiffened, expecting another disappointment.

"He stood up for you, he understands what you and Dana mean to each other, what you're going through, and he wanted me to let you two be. He tried to tell me about some of what he saw when he was younger, but I wouldn't listen." The tall man's astonished expression told her, as nothing else could, just how little Bill Mulder had valued his own son. "If anything, Dana's injuries are my fault."

Shaking his head vigorously, Mulder faced her, holding both of her hands between his. "No, Mrs. Scully, don't blame yourself. We've told you how dangerous these men are, that they would try anything to eliminate us if they thought we were too much of a problem. Yesterday was bound to happen sometime, so please, don't feel guilty. I never should have let her go."

Margaret smiled up at him. "Fox, when have you ever been able to stop Dana when she wanted to do something?" His sole reply was a rueful grin, but it told her what she already suspected. "I appreciate you trying to be like a brother to her. Your Mother has explained to me how close you were to Sam." They resumed their seats. "She told me how she would watch you two from her bedroom window, walking off to school together, your arm around her little shoulders."

His eyebrows pulled into a puzzled frown. "Mom saw that? I always thought she was too sick to notice. I felt like neither of them wanted me around. When Sam came, my Dad really didn't want her, so all she had was me." He bit his lip, the grief and joy warring as he remembered. "It's good to be needed. As long as Sam was there, I was. Mom was so distant all the time, it was like she didn't care, then, anyway."

As he stared at his feet, Margaret nodded. "Caroline saw a great deal, but she couldn't always express herself to you." She took his chin to turn his face to her, meeting his eyes with an air of sympathetic understanding. "She tried, but she couldn't stop some of it."

He closed them, blocking his view of her concern. _You can't know what it was like with him. I hope you never do, Mrs. Scully._

Dropping her hand, Margaret continued quickly so he would not feel pitied. "She said it kept her going, knowing Sam was safe with you." She waited until he focused on her once more. "Just as I know not to worry about Dana when you two are together." As his face started to darken, she smiled and leaned over. "Now, can I tell you a secret about my girl?"

He grinned cautiously. "Is it good for blackmail, Mrs. Scully?"

Margaret nodded, realizing just how much humor was a lifeline for this man. "Yes." His dancing eyes told her she had been forgiven for her harsh questions. "She always tried to beat her brothers, at everything, running, swimming, sports. And I mean when she was two, Fox."

He sat up straight, hungry for insights into his reticent partner. Outside of knowing about Ahab and Starbuck, Scully had said little to him about her childhood. "Bill Jr. was six, and anything her big brother did, she tried to do better. Children that young really don't have the motor coordination they develop later, but that never stopped Dana."

He was smiling, lost in her story.

"She would concentrate so hard trying to run or jump in the house she was always tripping or falling over the furniture. She gave herself more skinned knees and elbows than the boys did. Bill adored her for it, encouraging her to go into sports back when girls didn't do those sorts of things."

He frowned. "But Scully said she only wanted to read, and the boys and Melissa kept pestering her."

Margaret nodded. "That was later, after her first period. Her body changed, so she couldn't run as fast as Charlie. She was always a good student, so she transferred all her competitiveness to her schoolwork. Then she would be up all night studying Physics, Chemistry, Calculus, or Physiology in high school. Not only did she have to beat her brothers, she had to be better than all of Evans High." She stopped, noting the far-away look in his eyes.

"Did she?"

Margaret reached over to touch his knee. When he was focused on her again, she spoke. "By a country mile. Bill was so proud of her he was ready to burst. It made the other children jealous for a while, but I didn't care." She sighed. "You see, she was a second daughter, and in times past in Catholic families, those were the girls usually sent to the convents. It happened to two of my great-aunts, and I was determined it would never happen to her. But she's so tough and self-sufficient I knew she would make something of herself. She advanced placed out of her entire freshman year, you know. I don't know if she told you, but she tried to pursue a dual MD/PhD while in Medical School."

He raised an eyebrow. "In Physics?"

"Yes, but it was too much. She kept losing weight because she wouldn't take the time to eat or sleep, and finally her professors told her to do the MD only because she was so close to finishing it."

"You told me she was in bed with a migraine for a week after graduation."

"Mm-hum. That was after she decided she couldn't finish the PhD, too, and she was right. It wasn't that her work was poor; it wasn't, in fact her professors told me it was exceptional, but she was too weak, Fox. She was down to seventy pounds."

Mulder shook his head. "I try to watch out for her, Mrs. Scully, I really do. I know she doesn't like it, and I know I'm out of it sometimes, but I want to keep her safe."

Margaret squeezed his shoulder gently. "You always will."

He stared out at the wind-roughened water of the pool. "She's been good to me. I don't know where I would be now if not for her." Mulder faced his partner's Mother. "I have to find Sam, Mrs. Scully. I have to find her and bring her back home to Mom. Scully respects that, and when she can, she helps me search. But it's my responsibility, one I have to shoulder alone, and she understands that too."

Margaret dropped her hand to his arm. "I know she does. She's never forgiven herself for allowing herself to be captured, so you had to trade that woman you thought was your sister for her."

Shrugging, he hung his head for an instant. "Oh. That was never her fault." He raised his eyes to hers. "I've teased her about being Director one day, even though that's usually a political appointment. But for a woman, moreso than for a man, that means being alone too."

Margaret shook her head. "Fox, times *have* changed, you know."

Mulder turned to Margaret. "Not as fast as they should, Mrs. Scully, at least not in places like the Bureau. If she were a man, she could marry, have a family, and it wouldn't slow her down. But she isn't and things aren't equal in our society, regardless of all the advances women have made, in spite of all the women of accomplishment out there." He shrugged. "The FBI promotes a certain type: brash, aggressive." He studied his hands for a moment. "Not like me. I guess that's true of a lot of places. Scully's really focused, so she could, if she set her mind to it, rise as high in the Bureau as she wants to."

Margaret settled back on her chair. "Maybe that's not what she truly wants."

Mulder slid to the edge of his seat, his eyes intense. "It will happen occasionally, most often in the labs, that a woman agent somehow survives under the burdens the Bureau dumps on them. Then, she will sometimes think, 'well, I can get married now and start a family now.' But if they do that, there's another level of pressure applied. She'll hear comments about how 'your family needs you,' or, if she's a field agent married to another field agent: 'What will happen to the kids if both of you are killed?' Scully doesn't need that; she has too highly developed a sense of duty. She needs to be free to claim all the promotions and honors she deserves."

Margaret looked over, aghast. "You make it sound like such a mine field, Fox. How can anyone find happiness in a place like that?"

Mulder closed his eyes. "Eventually, all you think about is the work." He rose again, standing in front of her, his hands linked behind his back. "She's been my partner for almost five years, and I hope for at least another twenty more. But to advance in her career, she may have to move on, and I know I'll have to let her go." His lips formed into a pensive grin. "In many ways, I don't deserve someone like her."

Margaret rose, then hugged him tightly, making him grunt in surprise. "Oh no, Fox Mulder, don't start talking about yourself like that." As she released him to stand back, he dropped his chin to his chest. "I don't know many men who would do what you have done, spending your life trying to find your sister, and supporting my daughter like you do when you stand to gain so little yourself." She crossed her arms. "But I do need your help with something."

He looked puzzled. "What?"

"I can't bear to watch Dana's scrapes ooze like that. From what you told me, that car was moving at about forty miles an hour when she was flung out of it."

Mulder nodded.

"She'll protest she's a doctor, but she's also my daughter. Mothers can't be wrong on everything and *this* mother will only tolerate being wrong once today."

He draped an arm over her shoulders as they walked. "I've seen Scully after one of her falls blading, but she's never left as much skin on the bike trail as she did in the gravel out there."

Enjoying the gentle affection her foster son was sharing, Margaret hugged him with one arm around his waist. "I'm sure, Fox."

"It was all I could do not to take her by the nearest hospital myself." Mulder slid the glass door aside and stepped back so Margaret could enter first. "Mrs. Scully?"

She smiled up at the tall man.

He chewed his lower lip before he spoke. "I hope Scully does find someone who will love her the way you want." He dropped his gaze to the metal track in the doorway. "It would be an honor and a privilege if it was me, but there's so much I have to do first, I don't know if I'll live that long. Or, if after Phoebe, I'd be ready for a relationship like that."

She patted his arm. _You're a good man, Fox._ "Just look out for my daughter, and don't worry about the rest, all right?"

His lips formed into a mischievous grin. "Your command is my most heartfelt wish, Ma'am."

-o-0-o-

"Mulder?" Scully felt his hand grasp her shoulder.

"It's okay. We're back."

Rubbing her eyes, she pushed off the blanket. "Did you and Mom have a good talk?"

While looking over the scrapes, Mulder took a seat by her feet. "She told me what a rotten kid you were, Scully, always beating up on your brothers. I guess that's why you stay in practice on me." He was regarding her with laughing eyes, but she was too sleepy to notice.

"Mulder! I did not!"

He grinned. "She told me lots of stories. You said were one tough girl." _You're one strong, wonderful woman now._ "She *said* you beat up the whole school."

Waking enough to catch the teasing in his voice, Scully crossed her arms. "That was academically, Mulder. Don't believe her." Hearing the door open, she turned.

Determined not to miss anything more, the Pomeranian preceded Margaret into the room.

Scully frowned. "Mom, have you been telling Mulder stories about me?" She noticed the boxes of gauze and tape. "No, I told you. I don't need those."

Mulder leaned close to her. "Either you cooperate, Scully, or I hold you down while she bandages you up."

She looked from one to the other. "I don't have much choice in this, do I?"

Her partner hit her with one of his best hurt puppy-dog looks. "Scully!" He pouted. "You never let me have any fun."

Smiling, Margaret passed some of the supplies to Mulder, who lifted his partner's ankle onto his knees and began taping gauze over the cuts on her calf.

Rolling her eyes, Scully let her head drop on the back of the sofa. "I'm never leaving you two alone again."

The complex knight errant, although his eyes twinkled at all the undercurrents of conversation, appeared to be totally focused on his taping.

As she applied bandages to her daughter's shoulder and arm, Margaret smiled gently at Mulder, a slight frown creasing his brow as he worked by her side. "Oh, I don't know, dear. I'd say we straightened quite a few things out this morning."

Frustrated, Scully tried to push herself off the couch.

But before she could gain her balance, her partner pulled her down onto his lap, then slid her back to the cushions. "Warned you. Hold still, your Mom isn't done yet."

Walking around to the front of the sofa, Margaret continued wrapping her daughter's wrist.

Scully shrugged free of Mulder's hold long enough to reach down to the little dog. It had been attempting, and failing, to leap onto the couch, so she deposited the ball of fur on the sofa beside her, then rubbed its wet nose. "Mr. Fuzz, once these two are through, I'll show up at work to start the move tomorrow looking like the Bride of the Mummy."

Mulder considered another risque quip, but with Margaret present, he contented himself with holding her shoulder in silence, a small smile playing around his lips.

-o-0-o-

End - Rustic Suite - Prelude


	2. Allemande

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_Rustic Suite_ by Mary Ruth Keller

_Allemande_ (andantino)

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Circle H Ranch  
Outside Maud, Texas  
Saturday, January 11, 1997  
11:48 pm

Steven Halberstam's leather boots rapped as he walked up the stone path to the cages. His brown hair was greying at the temples, but it was still full and luxuriant on his head. The florid-faced man of middling height had one other reminder of middle age, a slight swelling at his mid-section. His beauties had done their work for the night; it was time for their reward. He chuckled as his grandmother's voice rang in his ears. 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!' _Well, yes and no. Remember old Ben Franklin. 'The Lord helps those who help themselves.' There's always an aphorism to fit any argument, Gran._

When he reached the wire mesh enclosure, he set the buckets of meat down so he could unlatch the upper part of the door. The growls and howls that greeted him rose to a peak as the first chunks flew into the midst of the pack. He checked around for the one animal that was his pride and joy. At this time of night, its fur blended into the background, so all he usually saw were its red eyes, glowing like some specter. _There, in the back._ He tossed a juicy haunch at the embers, then the head dipped as his Leader ate greedily.

_That was a strange animal, that one._ The other canines were shifty, sneaky, little thieves who would never look you in the face for more than a second, but not Leader. He watched you come and go, stared you down if you stayed too long. He had read of the intelligence of this species. After only a few days, he knew all the things he had learned were true. Halberstam had never really needed to train the animal with cajoling and rewards. All he had to do was show it once, then the lesson was absorbed. He stared hard into the enclosure, but he knew where the dark beast was only by the light it blocked, not from any reflection that made it visible.

If he were an old-fashioned mountain man, he would say Leader was a spirit animal, possessed of an unearthly intelligence that allowed him to bore into the soul of a person. _All the better to serve as bait._ He saw the red eyes, gazing fixedly at him again, as if he could read his thoughts. _Not you, Leader, your work is the bait._ A blink, then the carnivore returned to his meal. No, their work would attract the attention of the human animal he sought to catch, the man he thought he had put out of his mind forever.

Until one day last summer, when he turned on CNN to update himself on the earthquake in Mexico. There was *that* face. The confused, sleepy eyes, the sensitive lips, but behind it all, the keen mind of a hunter. More a tracker than one of these modern-day orange vest-wearing types with their helicopters, GPS receivers, and wildlife reserves ever had to be. As he descended to the ranch house, the handles for the empty buckets in his left fist, he smirked at the irony of it all. The man who had ruined his life with that carefully drawn profile, the too-perfect dissection of his character and soul, would come to him soon, following his pack, his pride, to his den. Here, on his turf, not in the Hunter's domain of the courtroom, he would exact his retribution.

_What's in a name? Just the means to extract that revenge is all._ It didn't matter to Steven that he was a free man, since it had taken almost all his family's money to buy the lawyers for his defense. If the Hunter had not faltered, had not made one wrong assumption, all the high-priced attorneys in the world could not have kept him from the gas chamber. As he, Steven Halberstam, had seen his family and reputation torn apart by the modern equivalent of the lynch mob, the sensationalist press, so he would see his nemesis torn apart by his beauties. _And who says there is no joy to be had in blood sport?_

-o-0-o-

X-Files Offices  
Second Floor  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Friday, January 17, 1997  
6:16 pm

Dana Scully shifted in her chair. She had been listening patiently to the woman before her complain about her partner for nearly a half an hour, but now it seemed like she was winding down.

"Agent Scully, I don't see how you stand to work with him! I mean, he's very polite and all, but he's so, so, ... "

The pathologist nodded. Their second candidate in a week, Cynthia Mulholland, a petite brunette, twenty-two, was fresh out of secretarial trade school. She had impressed the partners with her cheerful, can-do attitude. Their original choice, a friend of Director Skinner's assistant Gloria, had been reluctantly released when her husband suffered a severe stroke.

"Different? Totally focused one moment and completely spaced out the next?" Dana Scully favored the new secretary with a slight smile. _When were you ever that young, Dana?_ "Cynthia, Mulder takes some adjusting to." _I'm glad I convinced him to hide the magazines before we found ourselves in the middle of an harassment lawsuit._ "Give yourself some time; it took us almost four years to work out our differences and settle into our present partnership." She smiled again. "Go home and take a long, hot bath or spend some time with that handsome boyfriend of yours. Forget Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, the X-Files, and the Hoover Building. We've appreciated your help with the move; I'd forgotten how many files and evidence trays we'd accumulated over the years."

Cynthia returned the supportive sentiment. "What about you, Agent Scully? With Agent Mulder's side still tender you did most of the work. I saw your arms..."

Scully leaned back in her chair. _He'd done too much already._

Her paranoid partner had refused to use the regular FBI office movers. With what she knew from their latest case, Scully had seconded his concerns. So, the three of them had carted box after box of papers, slides, and samples into the elevator and out again for the better part of the week.

Scully crinkled her nose. "That's what partners are for, Cynthia, now off with you."

The girl hurried out of her office into the anteroom.

Scully watched her bring down her machine, pack, then leave. When the outer door closed, she rose, walked to the barrier between their offices, then knocked once.

Mulder's droll tenor emanated from the other side. "You rang?"

She turned the knob to enter her partner's disorganized working space. He had happily piled most of his files and notes on the conference table at the far end of the room, where they had lined the three walls with filing cabinets and map cases. Scully had set up his computer in the corner between the two windows in his office, next to his large new desk. In his only concession to his enhanced position, he kept it executive-bare, except for a few personal items. The yellowed 'I want to believe' poster was thumb-tacked over the computer, where it was visible from the desk, the conference table, or her father's old recliner.

Scully, by contrast, had spent the last two days sorting and filing all the medical evidence pertaining to their strange cases as the data were brought upstairs. It was here that the unimplemented filing system she had worked out before being called down to Chiapas had proven a God-send. Her partner, however, was constitutionally unable to pass up such an opportunity for mischief. He kept moving the contents of the files from one neatly labeled folder to another, then endured her scolding and glares with twinkling eyes. From her tidy desk, she could look up, past her two visitor's chairs, to two rows of filing cabinets, all new, lined up like sentinels on the way to the outside door.

Mulder was dancing in the middle of his room, shooting his orange Rawlings basketball at the hoop he had mounted on the windowless wall by the end of his desk. The space beneath their offices was the front waiting area, so he could bounce and shoot to his heart's content. He missed, the ball rebounding in Scully's direction. Her eyes lit as she grabbed it with one hand to start dribbling around the room, pausing only to kick off her heels.

Mulder had insisted the plush grey carpet be removed while they were in Miami (My seeds, Scully, my seeds!). She had agreed, preferring a hard surface for her castered chairs. The janitorial staff had worked overtime mopping and buffing the stained linoleum, but the original flooring had weathered the years remarkably. Now, his eyes glittering as well, he feinted towards her, but she dodged to her left, keeping the desk between them long enough to take her shot. The ball arced just over his fingertips, hit the backboard, then rebounded into the mesh of the basket, spiraling down into his waiting hands.

He smirked as he faced her. "Well, Muggsy, care to face off for another three points?"

She tossed her head. "Mulder, you know I can't block you." She dropped her jacket on the desk. "But, there's always the distraction factor."

Mulder smirked at the sleeveless ruby silk blouse under the prim grey wool suit, darker in spots from her perspiration. "You're such a wild woman, Scully." He rested the basketball on the stand on the right far corner of his desk. "Let's put that energy to some good purpose, shall we?" He passed her an X-File before he slouched in his chair, while he watched her settle in the recliner.

After she finished reading, then closed the folder, she sighed. "Mulder, you really don't think these cattle mutilations are anything more than coyote attacks, do you?"

Propping his feet up, he rested his head in the fingers he interlaced behind it, relishing their quiet time alone together. "Coyotes in Arkansas? Scully, that's reaching if you ask me."

She shook her head, the helmet of red hair moving in counterpoint to her motion, picked up her jacket, then slipped back into her office.

In the few minutes she was absent, Mulder collected her shoes, and, noting that the color matched her blouse, began clicking the sides together in his hands.

On her return, she noticed his wistful expression. "Wishing you were still down below?"

As he had closed the door to their basement office for the last time, he had drawn a considerable sigh and intoned, 'Remember, thou art but mortal.'

He flashed a pensive grin. "No place like home? Nah." He pointed at the basket. "Our upscale digs have their compensations." Releasing her shoes to fall in his lap, he dropped his feet to the floor then took the newspaper clipping she was holding. 'Coyote Raids on Farms Cost Owners Millions', the headline shouted. After thumping his heels resoundingly back on the desk top, he scanned the remainder quickly.

She reclaimed the Naugahyde recliner, pushing on the back to pop the footrest up. Her father's favorite chair, Margaret hated the shiny green plastic upholstery, but had hidden it in the attic rather than lose another piece of her beloved Captain. Mulder spotted it while searching the rafters for wiretaps with Byers, and had declared it 'excellent.' Margaret, who harbored fading hopes of making Fox Mulder an official member of her family, had willingly given it to him. The previous day, he had rented a truck to bring it back from Annapolis. Now her daughter was stretching and relaxing her legs in it, first rotating her feet, then rubbing her calves.

Mulder dropped the paper on his desk. "Okay, Scully, *maybe*. But why cattle? If they can fill up on the dead and diseased chickens the farmers bury in the woods, why work hard to take down live animals?"

Scully shrugged. "Perhaps the farmers haven't buried enough to keep them warm in the cold. Perhaps they hadn't buried any at all for awhile. Perhaps a few are rabid and attacking anything they can. I don't know for sure, Mulder."

He continued to play with her shoes, sliding his fingers along the indentation her foot left in the inner sole, feeling the ridges her toes made. "But we should check it out?"

She cocked her head. _I know that look. Oh, no, Mulder, you don't mean..._ "Now, as in tonight?"

Smirking, he held up a pair of airline tickets.

Scully rolled her eyes, resigning herself to another weekend away from home. _Like you had anything else to do, Dana._

Crossing the room in two easy strides, he stood by the foot of her chair. Before she could protest, he gently dropped her pumps back on her toes. "The game's afoot, Watson." Mulder bent over his grimacing partner. "Or do you want to be Holmes this time? We'll be leaving in two hours from National. That's just enough time for a quick dinner at CPK's and packing." As she growled and wiggled back into her shoes, he held out his hand to help her up.

-o-0-o-

Circle H Ranch  
Outside Maud, Texas  
Friday, 8:18 pm

Judge Harry Lamb rapped on Steven Halberstam's office door.

The light passing through the opaque glass panel shifted as the occupant of the desk crossed the room to open it wide. "Judge Lamb! Thank you for a wonderful dinner last Friday. Come in, come in!" The tall, elegant, white-haired man followed him to a plush leather sofa, set at right angles to his rosewood desk, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and ivory. Halberstam knew the Judge preferred his Scotch neat and well-aged, so he brought the bottle of twenty-five year old Macallan's and two glasses with him when he returned from the bar. They savored the sherried aroma and smooth flavor for a few minutes before settling down to business.

Judge Lamb placed his glass on a teak side table. "Now Steven, I could sit here, drinking your fine Single Malt all evening long, but I know you are a busy man, so please, come to the point."

Halberstam smiled as he refilled their glasses. "Thank you, Harry. In a few days, I will be mailing a cassette across the border, and at some point soon thereafter, you may be asked to issue a warrant for my arrest." He met the Judge's eyes. "I can't begin to tell you how disappointed I would be if that warrant were actually approved."

The Judge inclined his head. "I see. But Gene Arthur and I will have to, shall we say, go through the motions before we inform you?"

"Indeed. The appearance of justice must be preserved." After the two shook hands, Halberstam escorted the older man to the front door of his ranch. "It's good doing business with you, Judge. You'll see a nice increase in your retirement fund by the end of the week." He watched as the white hair was swallowed by the spacious interior of a Rolls, then began waving as the vehicle sped down the driveway. _Always keep up a good insurance policy._

-o-0-o-

Fortner's Family Inn  
Outside Fordyce, Arkansas  
Friday, 11:58 pm

"What? You just have one room left?" Mulder frowned at Abner Fortner, the proprietor of the only hotel for miles around the site of the mutilations.

The light from the overhead reflecting off his bald pate, the little man nodded. Just before the agents had rung the bell on his front desk, he had settled down for the night. Now he greeted them, in his undershirt and shoeless, but not sockless, nor had he switched out of his brown woolen trousers.

Mulder glanced over at his partner, who was leaning against the counter. Their flight out of DC to Little Rock had been delayed on the runway after boarding in National's usual Friday night rush, so they had just arrived.

Scully used her no nonsense voice to reply. "We'll take it." She was propping her head up with her arm.

Mulder felt for her. _I've dragged you out here in the boondocks for my own selfishness and worn you out. Sorry, Scully._

Abner was wiggling his oversized feet back into his leather slippers. "You folks realize it's the Honeymoon Suite? We built a little bungalow out back, a love nest that doesn't get used much at this time of year."

Mulder blanched. _You'll be eviscerated tonight, G-man. Two minutes after the door closes, your little grey cells will be removed through your nose with an unsterilized dental hook._

But his partner was either more forgiving or more exhausted than he thought. "That's fine. It could be a bed of nails for all I care." She followed the short man back to the outside walkway, while Mulder hoisted both bags to bring up the rear. But Scully waited, keeping the door open, holding out her hand for her duffel. "Sorry, you're bushed too. Let's hope the sofa is comfortable."

A look of mock horror on his face, he passed her bag over. "Ooh! And on our wedding night, Scully!"

She allowed herself a tiny grin. "For me, partner, not you. I expect the room not to have a couch that would be anything more than a two-seater, and you'll have a rough time on that." She shook her head. "No arguments, the Head of the X-Files Section is my personal priority." She grasped his shoulder, pulling until he bent under her hand so she could reach his ear as she stood on tiptoe. "With luck, Mulder, it'll be a waterbed, and you can float the night away."

He smirked as they trotted quickly after the little man, now shivering as he waited in the sub-freezing cold. The inn had ten rooms in the flat two-story structure, five on each floor. They heard televisions blaring, water running, and snoring as they passed the various doors and windows.

-o-0-o-

"Gee, how *romantic*." Mulder's mercurial nature switched to trickster mode as his red-haired partner's face contracted into an 'I don't believe I'm seeing this' frown.

The room was decorated in PINK. Scully scanned the entire living space, taking in the pink wallpaper with columns of tiny red hearts, the pink lace curtains with bright red bows for tie-backs, and the pink lamps with little gilded turtledoves for finials. But it was the bright pink upholstery and lace bed coverings that staggered her sensibilities.

Grimacing, Scully wondered if the bathroom was decorated in the same hideous color. _Don't ask, Dana, you already know._

In the same cool, rational voice Mulder used for interrogating nervous witnesses, he asked their host for a quick tour of the room.

To their right, the little man was gesturing at a canopied, heart-shaped bed, with ceramic life-sized cherubs mounted on the walls around it.

After Mulder and Scully locked eyes, she groaned silently.

Directly in front of them was a pink overstuffed sofa and two side chairs, facing a white twenty-eight inch television that sat on a white table. Their owner moved the pink taffeta curtain around the legs of the table aside to reveal a collection of equally cloying Romantic movies. After reading 'An Affair to Remember,' Scully closed her eyes to avoid the rest of the titles. Matching white end tables flanked the sofa, supporting silver urn-shaped lamps with rose-colored shades.

As the owner leaned into the bathroom to flick on the lights, Mulder caught her eye, then stuck his index finger into his mouth. His gesture forced her to rapidly clap a hand over her own to keep from giggling at their sincere host.

"Hey Scully, it's the Mary Kay Memorial Suite." Mulder treated her to what he hoped was his best sarcastic whisper as her crossed behind her, taking her bag to drop both on the end of the bed.

As the partners watched them bob up and down, the older man smiled. "All my wife's choices, God Rest Her Soul. We even had the floor reinforced for the water bed and the heater. If you folks want any dinner, Sal's stays open until two am. He makes a great omelette."

As the proprietor left, smiling in parting, Mulder thanked him. The tall agent turned to face Scully, who had collapsed in one of the chairs to laugh out loud once the sound of footsteps faded. "I'll see about some heat, Scully. I think we'll need it tonight."

She snorted one final time, then looked over. "Well, these types of places usually have decently-sized bathtubs, though I can't guess what color it might be." She bounced on the sofa experimentally, then lifted an eyebrow. "So far, Mulder, as long as I keep my eyes closed, not too bad in the comfort department."

As she shut the bathroom door, he grunted and fiddled with the heater's controls. A hum started behind him so he whirled. _Oh, no, the heat is only for the water bed. Hope your will is up to date, G-man._

-o-0-o-

Scully stepped out of the sunken heart-shaped tub, then wrapped herself in a plush pink body sheet. _At least these are better than the usual threadbare towels we have._ In her haste, she had left her robe in DC. Her pajamas were still in her duffel bag, so she called out for her partner, but heard no response. She poked her head out the door. He had moved their bags to the floor, dropping the suit and tie on his, but he appeared to be nowhere in the room. _Well, wrapped in this, you can at least make a run for it._ The terry cloth sheet was long enough that she could coil it around herself three times, wide enough that it hung down past her knees.

As she crossed behind the sofa to reach her bag, she caught a blob of dark hair in her peripheral vision, then stopped. He was lying with his eyes closed, wearing his grey sweatpants and FBI sweatshirt, using his long black trench coat as a blanket. She bent over him, clutching the towel tightly. _Why is the room still cold?_

He had drifted into the first stage of sleep, but stirred as he sensed her nearby. "Scully?" Pushing himself into a sitting position, he regarded her contritely. "I'm sorry, but the only heat is for the water bed. Are you sure you don't want it? I won't mind taking the couch. I can watch TV and fall asleep as usual." He stood over her. "You and Cynthia moved most of the boxes and notes." Mulder waved his hand at the monstrosity of lace and satin. "You ..."

Scully crossed her arms, preparing a quip that she hoped would give her the advantage. "What, and let you risk permanent brain damage watching all those videos?" When his eyes flashed, she smirked. _You may get him to rest yet, Dana._

"Those? Please, I have some standards." He sobered. "Really, Scully. I'd be okay."

Pointing at his side for emphasis, she shook her head. "Doctor's orders, Mulder. Now if I can find a blanket, *I'll* be fine." One arm clamped around the towel, she searched the drawers and closets, finding nothing but two extra pink pillows.

He cleared his throat. "Um, I think this place only gets used during the summer, if you catch my drift. That's why there's no heat, and since it's off on its own, we can't depend on the rest of the building to keep us warm."

Her shoulders sagged. "I'll use my coat, then."

He walked over to stop her with a hand on her back. _Partner, you're still banged up from Miami._ "Go ahead and take the bed, please. You need to rest well sometime, and moving didn't help your shoulder or your wrist."

Worn from the lifting and travel, she leaned into his touch. "I know, Mulder, it's just that this place is, is, ..."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah, it makes my skin crawl too. Your Mother would love it if we used this room for its intended purpose, but that's not who we are, Scully. So go throw on those rad plaid PJ's of yours and settle in before you fall down."

"Okay." She gazed up at him. "Thanks, Mulder."

Returning to the sofa, he watched her lift her tan flannel nightclothes and brown wool socks out of her bag. Their subtle color contrasted sharply with the row of red hearts embroidered along the borders of the garish body sheet. _She won't use it, but I have to offer._ Settling back, he heard the bathroom door close, then in a minute or so, open.

As he suspected, she took the empty space by his feet at the end of the sofa, raising both eyebrows at him.

Sliding over to her, he gestured with his head at the bed, pushing on her shoulder. "Hey, no, Scully. All we have are our coats, and you'll freeze to death over there. Go."

She crossed her arms before she shook her head fiercely.

The silent battle of wills was joined.

He frowned. _Scully, you're beat, so don't hare out over this._

She set her jaw. _Go, Mulder, another night on a couch is no good for your rib._

Mulder found himself contrasting their present situation with the nightmare at Comity, almost a year ago, when they could barely stand each other's company. He had thrown himself at Detective Angela White at her home, then the woman had reciprocated when she came to his tiny hotel room. The scene that ensued when Scully walked in would shame him to his death.

Remembering checking her for her perfume, Mulder sniffed lightly, a puzzled crease forming in his brow. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you smell different."

Looking over at him, she was surprised he had noticed, then was further baffled by his somber expression. Finally, she understood. _He's thinking about New Hampshire again. Oh, Mulder, it's so far behind us, but you will never pass up an opportunity to punish yourself, will you?_ Recalling her Solstice hallucination, she hoped that sharing her problems would pull him out of himself. "Remember how I thought initially that my case of the virus was just a reaction to the perfumes and dyes in the laundry room at the Boy's Home?"

He nodded.

"After we came back in off the streets, I developed a severe scalp rash from my commercial shampoo, so Susan suggested I make up a few self-prepared herbal cleansers. I've tried several this week, and this one seems to work the best. Mel always had skin problems and I must be developing them as well."

He grinned. "You and Susan and those herbs. Which are they this time?"

She lifted one corner of her mouth, her eyes glowing. _In your court, Mulder._ "Guess."

He inhaled again, enjoying the game, mentally identifying rosemary, calendula, and chamomile.

As the grin traveled to one side of his mouth, she knew his dark cloud had lifted, then she felt her own aches. "Mulder?"

His eyes still closed, still savoring this closeness they had worked so hard to obtain, he reached for her shoulder. "Hum?"

"Are you sure about this? I mean, if I take the bed, you'll be able to rest, won't you?"

He sobered. _She must be more worn than I thought._ Standing, Mulder crossed the room to his bag, tugging his Oxford sweatshirt and his own wool socks free of the opening to pull them over his head and feet, respectively. _Maybe these extra layers will help with the cold._ He smoothed his hair down with both hands. "Scully, stop fussing like a mother hen. I've watched you rub that shoulder and crack your wrist more times this past week than I care to count. It's late, even for me, so go drift gently down the tides of sleep."

But she was still keyed up from the travel, her mind racing, so she slid off the couch, pacing to expend her nervous energy.

He waited until the physical exertion had drained her, then walked over to stop his partner with a hand on her arm.

She sighed. _My big brother is at it again._

Mulder settled her on the sofa, standing behind her. Worried that their last case had worn her down more than she was willing to admit, even to herself, he gently massaged the knots out of her muscles. The previous year, despite the return of the close friendship he was afraid they had lost, had been hard on his partner's body. _No picnic for you either, G-man._ In addition to the surgery, he knew the migraines, nightmares, and skin allergies were all reactions to the continuing stress they were under. Once her shoulders and her stiff left arm relaxed in his hands, he stopped, resting his forearms on the sofa back.

He leaned over until his mouth was close to her ear. "It is a struggle, isn't it?"

"Hum?" She tipped her head back to meet his eyes.

He grinned. "Our investigations of the extra-normal, I mean."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Notice I didn't say paranormal, since oftentimes what we find is not beyond the realm of possibility, just unusual or unique." Mulder walked around the sofa to sit beside her. "I like to think of myself as a researcher studying the unknown, but we always run up against time limitations in our cases." He leaned back. "We usually have a death or some strange occurrence to find reasons for, like this case, okay?"

She nodded.

"We come here, ask a few questions, collect what evidence we can, and try to reach some preliminary, if contradictory conclusions, then fly back to DC to write X-File number whatever up and move on." He bowed his head. "We don't have the time to do follow-up studies because we're onto our next case, as you know."

She shifted toward him, picking up his thoughts. _All too well, partner._ "Something else vital to good research that we never seem to have, Mulder, is repeatability."

He snorted in agreement.

"Most of the phenomena we encounter are ephemeral, or the evidence is all hearsay, so it's difficult to track anything down to a fixed source." She chewed her lip. "You saw when I was working with Susan how many tests and trials we put those drugs through, and we're nowhere near ready to submit them for FDA approval. That process itself will take at least seven years, but you and I both know how well those extracts worked on the virus."

Nodding, he twisted carefully to ease the cramp in his side. "We may both be on disability by then."

Scully frowned. Leaning forward, she tucked her feet under herself, then lifted his arm over his head, pursing her lips at his smirk so he would keep still.

Too worn to argue, he submitted in silence as she slid her hand under his shirts to gently probe the damaged bone. Gratified for her attention, he watched her facial expression shift from concern to curiosity to relief before she sat back on her ankles.

"You're healing well, Mulder, but would you like something for the pain?"

He shook his head as she set one foot on the floor to cross the room for her bag. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he stopped her from leaving. "This is more important, go on."

Her eyes defocused as she remembered her words. "Mulder, I know you believe most of what we've seen is real, whereas I don't. But I know you want proof of your beliefs, and only with that proof will I accept that what we investigate is the truth."

He shrugged. _Fair enough, Scully._

"Well, I see the lack of repeatability as a big problem in nailing these phenomena down." She crossed her arms, then leaned against the back of the sofa. "To experiment, we need to be able to vary the conditions of an environmental set-up to see how the phenomena change with changing circumstances, but for most of our cases, that's nearly impossible. Take, for instance, the case with the boy who had the dead twin brother in Maryland."

"The Calusari?" His mind drifted back to the strange warning the elder had issued to him.

She nodded. "We're not monsters, like Klemper, so we can't take a set of twins born to another woman in that religion, kill one at birth, and stand back to see if the other develops psychokinetic ability, now can we?"

Mulder closed his eyes. "Not only would that be immoral and unethical, we would never have exactly the same situations again, so it wouldn't be a true repeat of the case." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Or take Virgil Incanto. It would be great if someone could figure out why he was incapable of producing body fat ..."

Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. "A dieter's dream, Mulder. But, yes, it would. We know a few of the genes and compounds involved in fat regulation, but we are nowhere ready to try them on people. In addition, until the Human Genome Project is complete, there won't be a standard DNA sample to compare Incanto's against. Without that, we can't know that if somehow, we produced more people like him, ..."

He nodded. "We wouldn't just be producing more monsters."

Scully rubbed back and forth against the upright cushions until she had hollowed out a slight depression.

Watching her, Mulder grinned at her efforts. "Eugene Tooms could make a better nest than that."

She snorted. "Tooms. He'd tapped into our other great dream."

Mulder waved one arm in the air. "Yeah, I can see the book title now: 'How to live forever on fifteen livers a century'." He patted her knee. "Sorry, Scully, one of those almost was yours." Yawning, he rubbed his face. "This is getting deep; I must be having some effect on you."

She lifted her chin. "That happens when two people work together as long and as closely as we have."

Pensive, he focused on his hands. "Most of the time, we can't even meet Thucydides' criterion."

"Hum? Which one?"

Surprised, he looked over at her. "Not taking the first account that came along, but only recording those events he actually saw, or had verified the eyewitness accounts of? I did *something* at Oxford besides chase Phoebe, you know." They locked eyes.

Scully stifled a yawn before checking his wrist. "Mulder, I'd love to talk more, but it is one ten."

"You're ready to sleep?"

She nodded, but a knock interrupted them.

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, Maryland  
Saturday, January 18, 1997  
1:04 am

Margaret Scully awoke at the Pomeranian's bark. _Who would be at the door at this hour?_ She pulled on her robe and slippers, descending to the main floor behind her now full-time canine companion. The stairs were a stretch for his short body, so his tail and hips tracked out a rolling spiral that made her smile as he bumped down ahead of her. She could see a uniformed man's silhouette through the glass in the door. For a moment, her heart stopped. _Is this the visit you've always feared? No, they usually send two._

She flipped the switch for the outside fixture, checking out the front window as she did. "Charlie?" She noticed his face and hands were deeply freckled from his latest cruise. _He hasn't been wearing sunscreen._

Her younger son was waving at the slit of light, grinning happily while she unlocked the door.

Since he was just a few inches taller than Dana and herself, Margaret threw her arms around his neck, the stiff ends of his freshly-cut fuzz tickling her nose. She mused to herself that only if his hair grew slightly longer than regulations permitted, would he develop the same beautiful auburn curls Dana had. Margaret would never understand why her younger daughter had cut her tresses shorter, forcing them into the severe style she had adopted after her abduction.

He bussed her cheek. "There's my gorgeous Mom."

She ushered him to the kitchen, her hand tucked behind his elbow. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. We made port a day and a half ahead of schedule, so I thought I'd surprise you and Val." He spun his hat in his hand. "Happy to see me?"

She beamed at his crinkled nose. "Always. Let me fix you something for the road. Are you sure you don't want to call ahead to Alice and John?"

He shook his head before stopping quickly in the downstairs bathroom. When he emerged, he took a seat at the kitchen table. "No, Val's mom would be up the rest of the night cleaning, you know that." He scooted the chair over to scratch the little dog's ears where it had curled on a mat by the heating vent.

She watched him playing with the Pomeranian, then, when their eyes met, they laughed together at the thought. Valerie Scully came from a family of women who raised domesticity to a high art. Margaret had joked with her daughters at their wedding that, in the Lowry household, dust never even began to descend on the furniture, let alone settle, before Alice Lowry whipped a cloth over it. She was glad both her girls had found better things to do with their lives, despite Melissa's attachment to her earth mother lifestyle.

Margaret glanced over at her younger son. "Well, Charlie, little John will have grown more than you expect, even though you've only been gone three weeks. I'd forgotten how fast they do at that age." She sobered. "How was the shock trial?"

"Fine, Mom." He walked to the counter, patting her shoulder when he reached her. "They really aren't trying to sink the ship, you know." He took a white mug emblazoned with a blue anchor off the stand. "Actually, they're boring. Once we reach the test site, we just sit and wait, while the contract engineers scramble all over the ship after one of the charges is set off. Some of the old guys are ex-Navy, so they tell good stories. How were the rest of the holidays?"

Margaret busied herself with the sugar, absently breaking apart lumps with a spoon.

Charlie touched her shoulder. "Mom?"

"I met Fox's new stepfather on Epiphany. He invited me down to Miami for a wedding ceremony for him and Caroline at his synagogue." Her face reddened.

He stepped back, confused. "Oh? That was a bad thing?"

She shook her head. "No, I enjoyed my time with them. Max is a good man, and Caroline deserves a little happiness." She rubbed her face. "No, Dana was almost killed down there, Charlie."

He hugged her. "Where was that weird partner of hers at the time, Mom? Was he still on that homeless case or off chasing his aliens?"

She rubbed his arm, before they filled their mugs, then returned to the kitchen table, where they sat side by side. "He was right there for her, Charlie. He worries about her almost more than I do. Someone's after both of them, as well as Caroline and Max, but all anyone will tell me is that I'm better off not knowing why. I don't like feeling left out; it's almost as bad as with you boys anymore."

Thinking, he held her hand. "Dad was right. Dana should never have joined the FBI. She should have been a regular doctor, so she could have had a husband and kids."

Pursing her lips, Margaret shook her head. "No, she wouldn't have been happy. She loves what she does, and she and Fox are as close as two people can be, I suppose, so she's not alone."

He grinned. _My Mom, frustrated matchmaker._ "So you've been having some luck?"

She sighed. "Unfortunately, it's not like that, Charlie. Oh, perhaps at some point far down the road, but their work is, well, different. They've been through so much together it's as if they have their own little culture just for them. Fox and I had a nice long chat about his admiration and respect for her. In fact, he broke down crying as told me he would rather die than let anything happen to her, but he thinks of Dana as another sister, more or less."

"Oh." He sipped his coffee. "So the tomboy's struck out again. Figures."

Margaret faced her son. "Charles! That's not fair! Dana is very content with their relationship as it is. She's tried so hard, at least be happy she's been promoted. She'll have two other agents working with her and Fox soon."

"Really? Sometimes I think we're all too much a part of some rat race to success." He sighed. "America needs to return to its roots to be good again."

Margaret touched his arm. "Have you been listening to that Far Right nonsense on the radio?"

He shrugged, finishing the last of his coffee. "It's hard to avoid these days, you know. It's all throughout the military. There are even groups who don't think Hitler was such a bad guy."

She gasped. "Charles O'Shea Scully! Do you know what happened to Caroline's family? Her parents were killed at Dachau, and Max was there!"

He walked to the counter to place his mug in the sink. "Mom, it's okay. I'm not saying I believe all that stuff, just that it's out there. You've told me about Caroline already, so I know that part's a lie. But, our country is in such bad shape with all the crime and the breakdown of the family. Sometimes you wonder if the old days weren't better, despite all the prejudice and poor hygiene. That's all." He lifted a thermos from under the sink to pour the remainder of the pot into it. "I'd better hit the road. Scranton's still a long way off." He held up the bottle. "Thanks for the black gold."

She joined him, hugging him from behind. "I know. I'm glad you stopped by." As they walked to the door, they kissed each other on the cheek. "Give everyone my love."

He nodded, then headed out to his car. Charles Scully looked up at the house as he backed out, finding a smile growing on his face.

Margaret's hand flew up and down furiously, the beat matching the wag of the tail on the Pomeranian, tucked under her other arm.

After he cleared the front bushes, he straightened the wheel as he accelerated, punching the radio's tuner buttons until he found a repeat of G. Gordon Liddy's talk show. _Mom will never understand._

-o-0-o-

Fortner's Family Inn  
Saturday, 1:10 am

Mulder and Scully exchanged puzzled glances at the rapping sound before he walked over to answer the door.

Abner Fortner stood outside, his head almost obscured by an armload of blankets. "Thought you folks might need these tonight. Sorry there's no heat in the place."

Scully joined them to accept the covers as Mulder thanked the man, then closed the door. She dropped the grey blankets on the sofa, snuggling under two of them.

Crossing to the bed, he returned with two pillows, resigned to the understanding that he would share the couch with her tonight. _Better than a street corner, Mulder._ "I was so beat when I dropped the bags on that thing I didn't see how revolting it was, Scully. Check this out." Holding up a pillow, he pointed to the swans embroidered with gilded threads on the pillowcase.

Scully rolled her eyes, but took one for her head. She curled up against the back of the couch, pulling her covers up to her chin.

Angling himself sideways, the tall agent leaned against the other bolster, stretching his long legs out, then throwing a blanket across them. "Sorry to drag you out of town on a weekend."

She opened one green-blue eye to focus on his anxious face. "It's all right. I asked you to take me with you when you run, and I knew what it meant when I did." She lifted one corner of her mouth. "I can only clean that apartment so much, and we should be able to wrap this case up fairly quickly. I'd rather be out here with you than listen to you complain about cockroaches and preying mantises on my cell phone."

Grinning at the memory, he watched her eyes slide shut, then heard her respiration settle into a relaxed rhythm. _Perhaps she's right about the cattle mutilations, and they have nothing at all to do with government experiments or UFO's._ He gazed at the auburn hair that had fallen over her face, regretful that since they would begin screening new agents next week, this would be more or less their final case for just the two of them. It would be fitting for her to be right, but perhaps, it would be something more and they could argue, creating and destroying theories with comfortable abandon.

Either way, life felt very, very good right now. He studied their reflection in the television tube, then shifted his eyes back to her. She looked so peaceful when she slept, until a nightmare came. He fervently hoped she would be free of those tonight. He twisted to reach behind him, turning off the light before he wiggled up against the sofa back, gratified he could help her to some ease. _See you tomorrow, Scully._

-o-0-o-

Dana Scully was floating on the sea. Not physically floating, but sailing. She and a small band of monks with her were crossing the dark Atlantic Ocean seeking lost souls to the west. She looked down at the rough woolen socks that her order had authorized for the voyage, glad not to be barefoot in her sandals. _Sandals? Nuns don't wear sandals._ She lifted the skirt of her brown robe, then giggled. _Haven't shaved in weeks. No, Dana, those aren't your legs._ She wiggled her hips, watching the knees below her flex. _Those *are* your legs!_ She dropped her skirt before raising her hands to her chest. _No breasts._ She touched her face, _Stubble!_ then her head, feeling the bald skin and ring of short, curly hair. _This must be a dream, Scully._ When she took a deep breath, the air was so heavy with salt she could taste it. _No, this must be real._ She listened to the waves as they lapped against the boat.

Someone called to her. "Brother Daniel, come quickly! Brother William has cut his leg! Bring your bag!"

She turned to view the speaker, who was on the starboard side of their large coracle. _No, not large, *huge*._ Brother Charles was always waxing and patching the skins to keep them afloat through this long journey of exploration. Scully's feet stepped over the lines coiled on the wooden planking and she (he?) ducked under the faded canvas of his (her?) tent, lifting a grey leather bag off the deck. _My medicine kit._ He checked the packets of herbs, seeking out his supply of dried thyme as he followed the sounds of concerned voices to the stern. Four of his fellow monks were gathered around a supine figure, one of them pressing down on the man's calf with the hem of his robe. Brother Daniel pushed him aside, exposing the deep gash.

Daniel rested a hand on the shoulder of his injured companion. "Brother William, how did you do this?" Daniel and William had entered the monastery together, passing through their novitiates the same year, while sharing a cell at St. Anselm's.

A frightened pair of hazel eyes met his own. "I was raising the third sail and caught my leg on the support peg. You won't have to take it, will you?"

Daniel sobered. _A good monk is always honest._ He pushed several clean cloths down on the wound, then gestured with his head to one of the lay brothers to apply the same even pressure he had. "It's too soon to tell, William." He turned to Father Brendan, who had joined the small group. "Father, I need a fire started quickly."

The older man nodded, the gesture sending Brother Andrew towards the bow where he fixed their small meals of porridge and fish. A fire was a hazard on a leather and wood craft, so Andrew kept the coals in a deep cauldron for safety and control. Now, he carefully stoked the smoldering embers, bringing the heat up gradually.

Daniel looked over at Brother William's face. "Be at peace, Brother, we are all in God's hands. I'll need to clean this wound carefully with one of my concoctions as soon as it is ready. Did you injure yourself in any other place?"

"No, Brother Daniel, only there."

He touched his shoulder again. "Then I'll step away to prepare it for you."

Father Brendan joined him as he traversed the deck. "How bad is it for our dreaming brother, my Son?"

Daniel considered. "All is not lost, Father. Although the wound is jagged, there is no wood lodged in it, and our brother's favor with the Blessed Mother has kept him from grievous harm once again. No major blood vessels were severed." Daniel dipped a leather bucket over the side of the boat, then looped its rope handle over the hook at the apex of the tripod that suspended the cauldron up off the floor.

Adding thyme, some rosemary for the Virgin, and a touch of rue to honor William's grace _Not too much, Daniel!_ he sent a quick prayer to all the Saints as he stoked the fire so the water would boil. After bubbles began to roil the surface, he dropped in the dried herbs, waiting through twelve Pater Nosters (for the Apostles) to give the leaves time to release their vital oils.

Turning, he called back two of the lay brothers , then the three returned to the injured man. "Now William, I need to move you to the cauldron, but I'm applying a tourniquet first." Daniel took a long piece of cloth-covered rope and a smooth branch from his bag, using them to stem the blood flow.

Brother William blanched at the throbbing in his leg as his fellow monks carried him to the bow of the ship.

Father Brendan laid his hand on William's shoulder. "Have courage, my Son. God is with you."

The brown ring tilted up and down, then the monk gasped as the hot tea ran over the wound.

Daniel dabbed carefully at the drying blood, exposing the white edges of the tear. _This will need a stitch or two._ He dropped his needle and some sinew in the water, stoking the fire to bring the water to a boil again. As long as his patient could take the heat, he washed carefully.

Brother William, for all his sensitivity, bore up bravely until Daniel was certain the wound was completely cleaned.

Daniel planned his stitches. _Yes, one there, there, and there should close it up._ He laid his hand on the monk's sweating forehead. "William, you know what I have to do." His companion closed his sad eyes, making Daniel wonder, not for the first time, why such a gentle man as William looked so guilty and lost so much of his life.

His patient tensed as the hot needle pierced his flesh, but kept silent until Daniel finished. "How is it?" The words escaped the injured man in a croak.

Daniel began packing up his supplies. "The Blessed Virgin had smiled on you once again, William, and you will recover without a limp." Daniel clasped his fellow monk's hand, then wrapped the leg in more soft cloths. "We'll carry you to my tent, where you can sleep while the rest of us work double shifts for you." After the monastics exchanged small smiles, Daniel gestured towards the canvas.

The lay brothers carried the lanky body towards his little shelter, but a wave struck the sturdy boat, jostling the man out of their arms. Father Brendan sounded the alert, then all hands, including William's, were set to the sails and lines. Dana heard the injured monk call to her, so she sat up.

-o-0-o-

"Scully, you okay?"

Dana Scully was bolt upright on the sofa, breathing heavily.

Mulder shifted beside her to lean in front of her face. "I had to visit the little girl's room, and you were mumbling when I returned. You want to tell me what's on your mind?"

Scully considered the dream images carefully, then lifted her eyes to his. "Mulder, may I examine your leg?"

He smirked. "Only my leg, Scully?"

She shot him the Look.

He swung them both onto the cushions. _She is all right._

She pushed the elastic band up over the knee on his right limb, then his left, inspecting his smooth skin. Satisfied, she pulled the cloth back down to his ankles, then noted his puzzled expression. "I dreamt you and I were monks, crossing the Atlantic with Saint Brendan and that you had cut your leg. I was the healer and was patching you up." She glanced down at her hands, clasped in her lap. "I know it's silly, Mulder, but I had to be sure you were okay."

He smiled at her. "No, Scully, it's not silly. You've just assembled a very interesting story to amuse your mind as you slept. It's nice to know someone worries about me all the time." He shifted his weight, then pulled up the right pants leg again. "The cut was here?" He ran his finger over his calf, raising an eyebrow as she started. "It's interesting you should put one there. Phoebe hit me pretty hard with an oar when we were punting on the Cherwell once, and I caught my leg there on one of the supports. It's only a faint scar now, but it hurt like blazes for several days."

"What time is it, Mulder?"

"Nearly three. I was hoping not to wake you when I returned, but you were already sitting up."

Nodding, Scully curled against the sofa back, then made a mental note to check tomorrow _today!_ to see if a second room had become available for her to move into. If not, they could stop by an outdoors/camping store for a cot. Even though they had both gravitated towards it, the scratchy pink couch wasn't nearly as comfortable as Mulder's futon, or the new sofa he and the Gunmen had helped her move in. _If only Mom could understand!_ With all the stakeouts, field cases, and long car trips or airplane flights, she probably fell asleep around Mulder more often than she dropped off in her own bed.

Scully smiled to herself. In the best of all worlds, she could easily see them forty years from now, partners to the end, sitting on some park bench in Florida, fussing at each other.

She checked his face, pleased at the relaxed set to his jaw and forehead, as she listened to his regular breathing. Restless still, she decided to use an old trick her grandfather had taught her. She synced her respiration with her sleeping partner's, matching the deep inhales and long exhales. Just before she dropped off, she shifted until she was lying face up. But before she lost all sense of the physical, she heard him whispering words of comfort to his long-lost sister. _Oh, Mulder! Now that your Mom is okay, I hope we find her soon, too._

-o-0-o-

Mulder was running down a corridor. Not running in long, loping strides, but stumbling and tripping over his (her) long skirt. She (he) lifted the material off the ground with both hands, as she constantly forgot to do in these dresses that were the height of Twelfth Century fashion. Mariamne knew something was very wrong with the Duke. She had to bring the Bishop to administer Extreme Unction immediately, so she pounded with both fists on the cleric's door. The elderly scholar, a guest in the great house, opened it a crack.

Mariamne waved. "Father, come with me. The Marchioness fears the Duke has reached the end."

Reaching for his sash and box of wafers, the Bishop of Leeds followed the chief waiting woman to the Ducal chambers, where he could see the Marchioness' red hair bobbing in prayer. She stepped back, but refused to relinquish her elderly father's hand, even after the old man breathed no more.

Mariamne hovered by the noblewoman's shoulder. "M'Lady, tis done. Come away for a while."

Finished with his office, the Bishop addressed the tiny woman. "My daughter, hear your friend and be at ease. His soul is with God and you have done all you can to set this estate aright for its new Master."

Mariamne took the hand of the woman she had tended since they were both children. She led her to a separate chamber hung with heavy tapestries, where two high-backed chairs were set up, side by side.

Diana, no longer Marchioness of Cornwall, sank onto one of the benches that lined the attendance room to grieve in her friend's arms. "Mariamne, he was so good to me. I know I was the unwanted girl, the only child he and my mother had, but he never lifted his hand against me."

The tall woman stroked her Lady's hair. "You never gave his cause, Ma'am. A more considerate and attentive child than yourself never lived on this earth." They looked over as the Duke's eldest son, Richard, her stepbrother, approached them.

Kneeling, he took Diana's hand. "M'Lady, as long as I draw breath, this is still your home. After a decent interval, my wife will come from Somerset, and we will settle here in the Ducal seat." He rose. "But now I must away to pay my respects to my Father and my fallen Lord." He turned on his heel, then left.

Diana rubbed her tears away with one hand, leaving the other in the tall woman's two. "I don't trust him, Mariamne. When Catherine arrives she is likely to throw us both in the dungeon to exact her revenge for her brother's death at my father's hand. We must prepare ourselves for her."

The waiting woman stood before her mistress. "But the people love you, Lady. Surely they would protest." When the Marchioness raised her eyes, Mariamne could see the deep tracks of grief written there.

The noblewoman spoke slowly. "The people will respect the succession, as they always have, and as we must, Mariamne. Otherwise there is no law, and this fair land has suffered too much anarchy from King Steven and Margaret of Anjou assuming they knew better."

"What are we to do then?"

The Marchioness closed her green-blue eyes, giving herself over to her exhaustion for a moment. "Let me think, Mariamne." She rubbed her forehead, concentrating. Resolved, she stood beside her friend. "We must leave here tonight, and make for St. Briget's Convent, before Richard can rally the guards against us." She glanced down at her hunter green velvet and brocade dress. "Not as we are, but as we did as little girls. My departed Lord was about your size, and I can cobble something together."

They slipped back into the dead Duke's empty chamber, Diana placing a final kiss on her father's forehead before covering his face with the sheet.

As the two women rummaged through the chests of drawers in the room, Diana exclaimed, lifting a stained pair of short leather breeches from the bottom of one of the stout oak boxes. "Here, Mariamne, his gardening trousers." They smiled at the memory of the old man on his knees in composted manure, trimming his prized roses in mid-Summer. "These will make us completely inconspicuous." She found a second pair that was only slightly less stained and two black leather jerkins. Once changed, the women pulled on old riding boots, then, after Diana stuffed cloth in the toes of hers, they regarded themselves in the mirror.

Mariamne pulled gently at Diana's long red curls. "Our hair, M'Lady."

The women locked eyes.

"Indeed."

A few minutes later each had administered a rough cut to the other, then the clothes and hair were tossed on the brazier. Mariamne stoked the flames until all was ash, down to the ornately carved yew buttons, not a moment too soon. They could hear the new Duke ordering a watch placed on the old Duke's body, so two soldiers took up positions outside the door.

Mariamne opened one of the windows in the audience chamber to lean out. "The creepers will carry your weight for one trip, but I will need something more substantial."

The Noblewoman and Attendant knotted several sheets together, Mariamne descending first. Diana slipped the loop of cloth over her head, then tossed the sheets to the woman below. They would stow their escape ladder in one of the town's rubbish heaps. Diana climbed nimbly down before the women slipped into the shadows and alleys. Several times they ducked to hide from massing troops, more as they approached the town gates. Once there, they concealed themselves in a little-used archer's tower, huddling close to each other to keep the cold at bay.

Diana lifted her head off her servant's knees. "How are we to depart?" She had to rely on the tall woman's knowledge of the inner workings of the serving sides of the manor.

"At the changing of the guard, the water gate will be free for us to slip out. It has been dry this year, and we may not dampen our feet as we go."

Diana dropped her head back on Mariamne's lap, taking comfort in the presence of her closest friend.

The tall woman stroked her hair until they heard the guards calling to each other. "It is time, M'Lady."

When the red-haired woman nodded, they made their way stealthily to the low opening by the front gate. Mariamne pushed the wooden grating to one side, letting Diana through first, then they tumbled into the dry moat, climbing the far side at an angle to lessen its pitch.

It was not until they were almost to safety in the bushes that an arrow whizzed by them, the watch at the north tower having spotted them. "There they are!"

The two women scurried into the cover but Mariamne's long legs quickly outpaced Diana's so she fell further behind. The Marchioness gritted her teeth, forcing her long-disused muscles to their limit, throwing herself into the cover as more arrows peppered the bushes.

The waiting-woman peered through the bushes. "Where now, Ma'am?"

But there was nowhere to hide with the woods full of guards, so soon the two were dragged out of hiding to be set on their feet before the new Duke.

Mariamne bent over her Lady. "I'm so sorry, Ma'am. We were almost there."

-o-0-o-

"Almost where, Mulder?"

The tall agent awoke to his partner's confused face and sunlight.

"Mulder?"

He sat up, the dream receding.

Fully dressed in a grey wool pantsuit, but shoeless, Dana Scully was kneeling in the center of the sofa, her hand on his shoulder.

He blinked at her. "This is odd, Scully; you dream we are monks on a sea voyage, and I dream we are a Marchioness and her attendant escaping family intrigue." He lifted an eyebrow at her. "You were the noble one." When she laughed out loud, he found himself joining in.

Still smiling, she scrubbed his hair playfully. "Thank you, Mulder, just tell me one thing. Were you obedient and faithful?"

He nodded.

Her eyes glittered. "Next time I'll try to have that dream. I'm glad you have a cooperative bone somewhere in your body."

He tipped his head at her. "Yeah, right. It may be your best shot at keeping me in line. What time is it?"

She held his left wrist in front of his nose. "A little after eight, Mulder. You hit the shower, and I'll check to see if any regular rooms are available tonight. One stay in the Pink Palace is more than enough for me."

-o-0-o-

End - Rustic Suite - Allemande

24


	3. Courante

=====o================================================o=====

_Rustic Suite_ by Mary Ruth Keller

_Courante_ (allegro)

=====o================================================o=====

Winding Branch Farms  
Saturday, January 18, 1997  
9:23 am

Mulder and Scully followed Joe MacMillain, the farm manager, out past the barns to a refrigerated meat locker. On the concrete floor lay the mutilated carcass of a heifer.

"We moved her in here as soon as we knew you wuz comin', Agent Mulder. We wanted you and Agent Scully to have the best shot at identifying whatever is behind this." The tall man in overalls stepped out, leaving the agents with the animal's remains.

Mulder nodded his thanks as his partner knelt beside the heifer's head, opening the bloodied mouth with her latex-sheathed hands. Scully finished her observations of the oral cavity, then crawled back to examine the slit in the abdomen.

Lifting the flap of skin, Scully nodded. "So far, Mulder, this looks like canine predation." She pointed to the pairs of holes in the throat. "Coyotes, wolves, and even the big cats like lions and leopards all use the same basic technique to bring down large animals: Hold the windpipe closed with their jaws until the animal suffocates. Then they eat the entrails, which would explain the missing intestines and uterus." She moved back to the head. "Although this business with the tongue is a little strange."

He crouched beside her, grimacing as he stared into the orifice. "How so?"

"Well, it looks like the tongue was chewed away, but the wound has been dissolved, as if someone poured acid on it."

His forehead creased. "What?"

"Look." She poked the remaining flesh.

Mulder noted how smooth the surface was. "Isn't saliva acidic?"

She sighed. "Yes, but not enough to do this. The fluids in the stomachs of predators are more acid than ours, but are still hydrochloric, which takes time to dissolve flesh. It would take a strong boric acid solution, or an alkaline substance, to break down this much tissue in the few hours since death, but a compound that potent-" She swiped her fingers over the tongue, then rubbed them together. "-would dissolve these gloves."

He stood. "So what are you saying, Scully?"

Stripping off the latex, she rose to met his eyes. "The cause of death is definitely suffocation, Mulder, and the entrails were consumed by something with sharp teeth. The tearing there is too jagged to have been done with a knife or scalpel. Both these pieces of evidence are absolutely consistent with canine predation. Only the tongue is anomalous."

He looked back at the carcass. "Could the tongue have been removed with a knife after death?"

She shook her head. "Perhaps as it was being suffocated, but the heart was still beating, or there wouldn't be all that blood." She crossed her arms. "I wouldn't want to be in the middle of a pack of dogs while they were in a killing frenzy, armed only with a knife, would you?"

His eyes narrowed. "You're right. No matter how well trained, at that point, a dog is just a wolf with flopped ears."

She arched both eyebrows. "This doesn't look like a typical mutilation, Mulder, nor does it look only like a coyote attack. I'd like to see another specimen." She shrugged. "It's difficult to call a cow a victim, but we need to establish a pattern, some type of consistent behavior, even *if* our killer is *supernatural*."

He pointed his chin at the carcass. "I agree, Scully. Daisy here has left us with more questions than answers. We'll go see the local law enforcement again. Perhaps he has pictures or can point us to another farm."

He stepped back, holding the door open so she could exit first.

-o-0-o-

Fordyce Sheriff's Office  
Saturday, 10:06 am

Wallace Fortner regarded the two agents seated across from him. He had pulled the chairs for them from the small, rarely-used conference room that comprised the back half of his office. The lanky man and petite woman had the town gossips whispering, especially after his cousin Abner had passed the word about the Honeymoon Suite. _Ah, well, Wally, two city folks would pick the Bahamas or Mexico for a rendezvous, not that freezing confection of Abner's._

He leaned over his desk, piled high with WANTED posters and several days of newspapers. In this position, he could see both entrances to his office, the one in front of him opening onto the town's main street. The other was through the conference room, with its dozen or so chairs and the old school's 'green' board, into the back parking lot, where the twelve police vehicles were kept.

He had set up his office so the desk faced the front double doors, with two filing cabinets on his right to hold the records of the few criminal cases he had handled in his tenure. The remainder of the filing cabinets, lining the walls between himself and the entrance, were for the town's records. He prided himself that no fire or flood had disturbed Fordyce's documents from the incorporation of the little town to the present. One day, he knew, some historian would come calling, looking for just such a complete history of small-town America. He hoped he would be here, to serve as librarian and aide.

"Yes, Agent Scully, I have the photos from the Anderson's place. Let me check my files." The balding man, as short as his cousin, but stocky where the other man was lean, crossed the room to his filing cabinets, where he retrieved a torn manila envelope.

Accepting it, the woman lifted the packet of photos out of their sleeve, passing half the five by sevens to her partner. They turned their stacks over slowly, then traded after a few minutes.

The man nodded once, extracting a single image. "Yeah, Scully, here are those teeth marks again."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I know, but it looks the same in the oral cavity as the cow we saw this morning."

Mulder focused on the Sheriff, noting the similarities with the hotel proprietor. "Do you have a map of the local area?" He waited while Fortner nodded, pointing to a framed map of Dallas county. "If you would indulge us, Sheriff, would you help us mark off the locations and numbers of the dead animals?"

Fortner passed them a rolled-up version of the framed chart. _They are serious about this, or at least conscientious._ "Already done that, folks."

Scully took the map to hold it open as Wallace Fortner stood next to her, pointing. The tall agent positioned himself behind him, nodding as the sheriff described the timing and pattern of the attacks, "They started at the extreme western edge of the county, just a few in November, then they spread eastward, expanding with time."

Mulder shifted on his feet. "Almost like the rings a pebble leaves on the surface of the water. What about the other counties those rings would intersect?"

Fortner frowned. "Haven't heard from Lewis about any attacks, either now or in the Fall. I thought this was some kind of hoaxer, if you ask me."

The red-haired woman stood fluidly.

Thinking of his grandmother who lived in the Ozarks and could outshoot any of the men in the family until she was ninety-five, Fortner smiled at her without being conscious of the gesture.

Scully focused on him, relieved that she wouldn't have to tip her head back when they conversed, as she did if Mulder stood close. "Why do you say that?"

"Just a hunch, I guess."

Stepping up to him, she looked him squarely in the eye, the slight herbal fragrance recalling his grandmother for him all the more. "No, Sir, I'm really curious. The bite marks and abdominal penetration are typical canine behavior. I can't explain the tongues though, but if you can, I'd like to hear it."

The Sheriff looked back at her partner, who was holding onto his chair with one hand, nodding encouragement. "Oh, there was this movie at the drive-in about aliens landing in Oklahoma or some such nonsense. The local kids were all worked up over the part where they showed the spaceships abducting farm animals. Thought it was the biggest hoot they'd ever seen. I've been afraid of something like this ever since."

Now Mulder moved forward. "You may be right, Sir." He looked over at Scully. "If there were dogs with them, they may be responsible for the predation."

She was shaking her head as he paused. "It's possible, Mulder, but why the punctures in the neck? The abdominal tearing, yes, that's instinctive for an uncontrolled large dog, but it wouldn't bite the throat if it hadn't been trained to kill or the prey were already dead."

When he shrugged, Fortner resumed his seat. _These two are really interested. Old Abner was wrong, I guess._

Scully walked over to Mulder, tipping her head back as he looked down at her. "So far, we just have suspects, but I think we're missing some piece of the puzzle that would tie this all together."

Mulder crossed his arms, thinking. "Let's at least check the movie angle out, Scully. A poorly done hoax would explain the disjoint pieces of what we've seen." He glanced over at the Sheriff, then lifted the map off the chair to unfurl it. "You said the attacks progress across the county in time. Where are the farms on the leading edge of this ring that haven't been hit yet?"

Fortner opened his desk drawer to extract a red pen, then cicled three locations running from north to south with it.

Scully tapped the oval in the middle. "We'll try staking out this one tonight, if the owner gives us permission." The partners exchanged a glance, then she shrugged. "It's the closest to the last attack, and the pattern seems for the deaths to move in a zig-zagging line along the rings."

Mulder nodded. "Sheriff, would you mind introducing us to the owner?"

Fortner cleared his throat. "Well, old Jezreel won't take kindly to strangers, but Agent Scully will remind him of his Annabelle, so he may go along with you." He rose from his chair. "If you folks will follow me, prepare yourselves for a slice of the *real* Arkansas."

-o-0-o-

McAndrews Farm  
Saturday, 11:26 am

Dana Scully could scarcely contain her laughter.

Her Oxford-educated partner from New England was gawking, his mouth hanging open slightly, as she kept sneaking peeks at his face. They had driven past the broken-down barns, sway-backed mules grazing in yellowed pastures, before crunching up a gravel driveway to the sagging grey farmhouse where a wizened man sat on a rocker in long johns and overalls. As Mulder engaged the emergency brake, the man tapped his corn-cob pipe on his boot, stood, then jammed a frayed straw hat on his head.

Mulder snorted. "Jezreel, my eye, Scully, it's a Jed Clampett before picture."

A small gurgle escaped her, then, as he turned off the ignition, she leaned toward him. "Just don't start talking about 'yewts', Mulder, and we may solve this case yet."

He rolled his eyes. "How much do you know about Oldsmobiles, Scully?"

She shook her head. _He does watch something besides those NC-17 specials of his._

The Sheriff, now out of his truck, was walking up the steps as the old man descended to meet him. The agents followed, shaking hands with the farmer after they were introduced.

As Fortner had predicted, Jezreel McAndrews warmed immediately to Scully, willingly leading them back behind his home to a waiting tractor. "He's back a ways, gents. I'll take the little lady here and Wally, you use that fancy four wheel drive our tax dollars bought you and follow me."

The agents locked eyes, Mulder shaking his head at the old man.

-o-0-o-

As the elevated truck bounced over the stumps and ruts in the dirt track, Mulder hung on to the overhead strap with both hands. "So, Sheriff, when did this attack take place?"

Fortner shouted to be heard over the engine and the thumps. "Last night, not long before the one at Winding Branch Farms. McAndrews is the sort to keep his troubles to himself, so if we hadn't taken your partner's suggestion and stopped by, I probably never would have known about this." He glanced over at his passenger. "Oh, Agent Mulder?"

The tall man took his eyes off the road long enough to focus on the bouncing badge on the Sheriff's broad-brimmed hat.

"Let me do the talking with Jezreel for you. No insult intended, but he'll have trouble with your Massachusetts accent."

Mulder shook his head. "None taken. I've lived in England and then DC for so long I thought it was gone. How can you tell?"

Fortner smiled. "It's a hobby of mine. You have to do something here to keep the mind sharp. I can't place Agent Scully, though."

Mulder grunted when the vehicle bounced on a tree stump. "You won't be able to, because her father was Navy. She's lived everywhere from Charleston to Philadelphia. Her father made Captain and was living in Annapolis when he died."

"If you don't mind my asking, how long have you two been partners?"

Mulder arched both eyebrows. "Almost five years now."

Surprised, Fortner glanced at him. "Doesn't the Bureau move their agents around fairly often?"

The tall man sobered. "No one else will put up with me."

The vehicle slowed. "We're here." The driver pushed on the brakes.

Scully was already bending over the bloated body of a steer when the engine fell silent. Mulder saw his partner nod politely as she proceeded with her examination.

Jezreel was speaking loudly and continuously in his slow Arkansas drawl. "I heard the commotion last night and hauled out here on the tractor, so they only had time to do old Rufus in, not eat the poor feller."

Scully glanced up at Mulder, who was wrinkling his nose as the stench emanating from the carcass. "That's methane from the stomach."

He nodded.

She pointed toward the farmer. "Jezreel is right, they brought the cow down, but didn't eat him." _You'll love this, partner._ "However, the tongue is missing."

Suddenly excited, Mulder stepped forward to drop to his knees by the front legs. "Hey, Scully, look at this." He pointed to one set of teeth marks. "These fang holes are further apart than any of the others."

She moved closer, pulling a small ruler out of her bag. "By about two inches over the rest. I noticed that as well, Mulder." She began scribbling notes as she measured holes.

Her partner rose to speak to the Sheriff. "Ask Jezreel what he heard last night."

Fortner repeated the question.

Jezreel looked Mulder over carefully for the first time, taking in the dark suit under the tweed trench coat. "Just crashing sounds back here, Agent Mulder."

"No barking or howling?"

A murmur in the old man's ear followed.

"No."

Scully spoke up from where she knelt. "That wouldn't necessarily mean anything. Coyotes don't always howl during the kill, usually only to keep themselves together as they hunt moving prey. Given the noise that tractor makes, I doubt Jezreel would have heard anything." She stood to lean close to Mulder, who bent over for her. "He's very deaf."

The tall agent nodded.

As if to prove the point, the old man began loudly complaining to the Sheriff about the lack of fall and winter precipitation, while he stomped on the rock-hard soil. "Need to get the ground prepared for spring!" He was standing close to Wallace Fortner, the Sheriff having assumed a patient expression of tolerance.

Mulder laid a hand on Scully's back, then they stepped to the other side of the bright green tractor.

Scully huddled close to her partner. "He's right about the ground, Mulder. I couldn't find any tracks or claw marks on the surrounding bare patches. Even the tractor wheels aren't leaving impressions."

He inclined his head once. "Okay, so we'll pick up no new details from the scene of an attack. Do you remember anything unusual about the fang marks on the other animals?"

She shrugged. "I never noticed this until now. If MacMillain's left the carcass alone, we should stop by Winding Branch Farms and make measurements there."

Mulder frowned. "We'll check the photos as well. If we can get a sense of scale, we may be onto something here."

Returning to the two men, the agents explained their plan.

Leaning over the older man's stooped shoulder, Fortner shouted their farewells in Jezreel's ear.

Before the three climbed into the Sheriff's truck, Jezreel took Scully's hand to kiss it.

Mulder touched her elbow as she climbed in the vehicle, leaning close as she passed him. "Do you want me to tell Frohike he has competition?"

She shot him a quick glare and slid over so he could sit.

-o-0-o-

Fordyce Sheriff's Office  
Saturday, 1:12 pm

The Sheriff looked up as the partners entered. "Well, agents, it looks like you were right."

Mulder crossed the room to Fortner's desk, taking a spot at the Sheriff's left elbow while Scully stood at his right.

The stout man pointed to a separate pair of tooth marks by the cow's collar. "Since old man Anderson had collars on all his dairy animals, I could use the width as a gauge."

Mulder frowned. "Isn't this only a meat-producing region?"

Fortner smiled. "Anderson never lets a day go by without a crazy idea or two."

The agents locked eyes over the man's head, but it was Scully who tossed out a tease. "Long-lost relative of your Father's, Mulder?"

The Sheriff glanced from one to the other, then reached into his desk drawer to pull out a Ziploc bag containing a red nylon strap.

Scully held out her hand. "May I?"

He passed the plastic to her.

Quickly donning a pair of gloves, Scully turned the collar over in her hands, examining it for cuts. Using a pair of tweezers from her kit, she extracted three long black hairs that were wound around the crossbar of the buckle.

Fortner gasped. "Where were they?"

"Worked into the fold of the cloth." She raised an eyebrow. "My Pomeranian was always getting his fur caught in there, so I checked." Scully dropped the hairs into a smaller bag that Mulder held open.

After sliding his fingers over the Ziploc threads, Mulder draped the bag over Fortner's outstretched hand. "I know most animals grow longer coats for the winter, but that's too long for a cow, right, Sheriff?" He watched the Sheriff nod. "Anyone you know that has a black dog?"

Rising from the chair, Fortner gazed out the window, considering. He replied without turning to face them. "Not really, no. Most folks' animals are whatever color comes out, but I don't know of any long-haired black dogs to speak of."

The agents exchanged a glance while Mulder shrugged. "Not a hoax, then. You're probably right, Scully."

She shook her head. "But the tongue, Mulder. It still doesn't fit."

His eyes flashed.

She waited warily. _Oh, no, he has a theory._ She focused on the piece of paper he was dangling in front of her nose.

"Scully, bite down on this for me."

As Fortner turned to observe the pair, she stepped back, half-turning away from him. "Mulder, don't say it."

He grinned. "Okay, I won't." He leaned over her shoulder. "Lon Chaney, Jr."

As she groaned, the Sheriff stepped between them, frowning. "Would one of you please tell me what you're talking about?"

Mulder gazed triumphantly at his partner, then raised the paper to his own mouth to bite down firmly. He measured the space between the canines in the impression. "I think these marks were made by a human, or what is by day a human."

Agape, Fortner stared at him.

Scully covered her face with her hands, whispering about coincidences and jumping to conclusions.

-o-0-o-

The agents had excused themselves to conduct their argument outside. Dana Scully's eyes were smoldering. Waiting, the tall man leaned back against the wall. He was not disappointed.

"Mulder-you-can't-be-serious!" His partner had assumed her classic hands on her hips pose. "There are no werewolves, none, Mulder, at all." She freed one hand to jab him in the sternum with a forefinger. "That the spacing between your canines matches the larger sets of holes is simply happenstance and nothing more."

As she began stomping around in front of him, he held out both arms. _Stay with me, Scully._ "Maybe, maybe not. But I think Sheriff Fortner and we should stake out those other two farms tonight, with some IR film if we can get it in this town."

She stopped to glare up at him. "Why? So we can look like idiots or something?"

He rested his hands on her shoulders. "No, so we can acquire some evidence one way or the other." He dropped his arms. "Scully, whether you believe it or not, I'm trying to approach this logically. I know I've just thrown a totally irrational idea at you, but, think about it this way. We have these attacks with characteristics that don't quite make sense, either as straight canine predation, or as cattle mutilations. You've said as much yourself."

She frowned. "But that doesn't necessarily mean werewolves, Mulder, anymore than an exsanguinated body implies the presence of Leestat!"

Mulder brought his face close to hers. "Never knew you looked forward to nocturnal journeys with immortals, Scully." He straightened. "If we see something out there that we can't capture on film, then we have to wonder about us, about the sensor that is the human mind. If the heat-sensitive film shows a body of some sort, we can at least have the images analyzed back in the lab. If those black hairs turn out to be human, then we'll be able to prove something."

She calmed down and began to think. _He's trying to meet you halfway, Dana. You make the effort, too, and apply yourself to testing the idea. Don't just reject it out of hand._ "If the pattern of attacks holds up, we may not see anything tonight. Usually there's a time lag of about three days, which is also consistent with canines."

He stepped closer. "After a large kill, they wait and digest their food?"

Nodding, she dropped her shoulders. "But at least if we're on a stakeout, we'll avoid the Pink Palace." He reached for the door, but she wasn't finished. "Mulder?"

He glanced down at her.

Scully shifted until she stood squarely in front of him. "Let me do the talking, okay? Fortner looked like he was about to pull one of his rifles off the rack and shoot you before we stepped out here."

He grinned, then guided her in.

-o-0-o-

Little Rise Farm  
Saturday, 11:16 pm

Fox Mulder eyed the herd of sleeping cows cautiously. He had never been big on animals; the fish were a dare from Frohike. _How can they sleep standing up?_ His partner had explained about sleep rigors, that it was better for cows to be upright to avoid nocturnal predators, that rigor was a part of REM sleep for humans as well. Nodding as she had spoken softly in the dark, he had grinned to himself, finding a biology lecture preferable to an argument about who would take the first watch. He would miss claiming her undivided attention once they were training new team members.

The agents had set up their base in an empty utility shed with a small window for observation that protected them from coyotes or the mysterious larger animal. Checking the dark shape at his feet, he listened to his partner's deep, regular breathing. Dana Scully lay curled inside a sleeping bag on the rough wooden floor. She had earned the late shift not by a trick coin toss, but through simple physiology. While he was more of a night owl, she was an early bird, who could stay awake between two or three in the morning and sunrise with ease. Mulder, of course, could keep himself awake for all hours of the night, but more before one than after.

Sheriff Fortner and two of his deputies were staking out the farm in the southern half of the county.

Mulder glanced at his cell phone, waiting for the 11:15 check-in call. One ring. "Mulder. No."

Terminating the conversation, he replaced the phone in his jacket, shuffling to keep his feet warm as he tucked his hand back in his glove. The shed was unheated, so they had piled on several layers of wool back at the hotel. _Forty-five minutes, Mulder._ When he heard her begin to mutter, he knew this dream was no sea voyage with Saint Brendan, but a descent into her recently revived horrors. After quickly checking the cows, he knelt by her side, his anxiety for her drawing his hand to her arm. "Scully, wake up, now." She twisted onto her back, the murmurs rising into pleas. Sitting beside his partner, he took her by both shoulders to hold her upright.

"No!" Her eyes flew open, but he knew they were the unseeing orbs of one caught in a night terror. She was fighting in her sleep, her fists flying.

Mulder grunted as she connected with his chest, then slumped limply against him. Rubbing her back while she became aware of her surroundings, he sought to reassure her with gentle words. _This is worse than at New Year's._ After she had awakened, moved away from him, then wrapped her arms around her knees, he turned the battery-powered light to its lowest setting.

He wanted to study her face while she answered his question. "Scully? Where were you?"

She chewed her lip, hard, but had assumed her usual mask of control. "I don't know, Mulder, but I wasn't a Marchioness."

"Can you remember anything at all?"

"No." Her quiet voice cracked. "Nothing, except I was hitting something." Scully recoiled when she realized she had struck out with her fists as well as in her mind. "Did I hurt you?"

He shook his head. _Don't worry about me._ "Nah, although I'd rather you tried that maneuver wearing leather and armed to the hilt." His eyebrows forming into a worried frown, he leaned in front of her face. _Not even a little smirk?_ "You okay?"

Catching the fear in his tone, she reassured him too quickly. "Sure, Mulder. What time is it?"

"Eleven thirty." Switching the light off, he heard the rustle of nylon slipping against cloth.

"I'm awake, Mulder, so why don't we swap. Anything?"

"No. Not here or at the other farm." He slid into the bag before the warmth of her body left it. "You were probably right about this being an off night." He settled in, propping his head up with his hand. "Fortner wants to meet with the farmers tomorrow to let them know about the attacks. I'm not sure that's a good idea, Scully." As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see her balanced on a small crate, alternately looking out the window, then back at him.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "We'll have to be careful not to stir up a panic among the locals. But if this is a hoax of some kind, then the perpetrator may be emboldened to try something more dramatic."

"You think it might escalate to murder?"

He rolled onto his back. "It may."

"But what about your lycanthrope theory, Mulder?"

Grinning, he looked over at her. "That you refuse to let me share with the good folk of Fordyce?"

She smiled at the teasing tone of his voice.

"Who's to say, Scully? As you reminded me yesterday, it's not like we have much experience to guide us here."

She patted his shoulder. "Get some sleep, Mulder. I'll wake you if anything unnatural begins to metamorphose."

-o-0-o-

Fordyce Sheriff's Office  
Sunday, January 19, 1997  
8:49 am

"Well, Agents, that was a wash." Deputy Allen Archer grumbled as he refilled the styrofoam cup Scully held out. The three had gathered in the conference room, where the coffee Sal had sent over awaited them.

She passed it back to her partner, who sipped the hot liquid before scratching his stubble. Scully rubbed her eyes, aware her partner was keeping close track of her after the nightmare. "At least it was consistent." She knew he wanted her to lean over, to tell him not to worry, that she was okay, but truth be told, she didn't know anymore. The dream of the boat and the monks seemed so real, so vivid, especially after the long night of watching in the dark. They would be meeting with the citizens of Fordyce after morning services at the First Baptist Church, so she hoped they would have a chance to clean up and talk.

-o-0-o-

Wallace Fortner picked up the phone on his desk. After hearing Mulder's werewolf idea, he'd left a call for Assistant Director Walter Skinner. He was sitting down now to converse with the agents' superior in relative privacy.

"Skinner here."

"Director Skinner, this is Sheriff Fortner down here in Fordyce, where your agents Mulder and Scully are on a case?"

"Oh? Where are they now?"

Fortner noted the undertone of worry beneath the resignation. "Right in my conference room, Mr. Skinner. I wanted to ask you about them, or more precisely, him, if you don't mind."

"Agent Mulder?" Now the voice on the phone took on the impatient edge of a father whose son had a habit of falling into misadventure.

"Well, Sir, we were investigating these attacks, and all of a sudden he starts spouting off about..."

"Aliens?"

The Sheriff frowned. "No, Sir, werewolves."

The silence was deafening.

"Sir? Are you still there?"

"Yes, I am." He heard the FBI Director heave a long sigh. "Sheriff, I am not as surprised as you might think. What was Agent Scully's reaction, if I may ask you?"

Fortner smiled at the memory of the glare the tiny woman shot her partner. "Well, Mr. Skinner, how familiar are you with the stock phrases used in Homer's Iliad?"

The deep voice lilted. "Flashing-eyed Athena?"

"More or less, Sir. Good to speak with a well-read man."

"Likewise. Was the... , oh, never mind."

"Well, they stepped outside, but I could still hear them from the back room, Director Skinner." Fortner thought he heard a faint chuckle.

"That bad? I'll look forward to their report. Sheriff Fortner? Don't let Agent Mulder's ideas put you off; he's a good man. When he works with Scully, they may take some strange detours, but they will find your attacker for you." Now the Assistant Director felt he had to come to his agents' defense. "Do you remember the earthquake down in Mexico last year?"

Fortner brightened. "Oh, these are the two agents who helped the victims?"

Skinner grunted. "The very same, Sheriff. Does that relieve your mind?"

"Thank you, Sir. Yes, it does."

-o-0-o-

Skinner Residence  
Falls Church, Virginia

Hanging up the phone, Walter Skinner settled back under the covers. _Mulder, the things I do for you._

Sharon Skinner rolled against his chest. "What's wrong, Walter?"

He smiled as he slid his arms around her shoulders and back. "Nothing anyone has to worry about, yet."

-o-0-o-

Fordyce Sheriff's Office  
Fordyce, Arkansas

Wallace Fortner rested the receiver in the cradle of the old rotary phone. _So he's really like that all the time._ He scratched the end of the horseshoe of hair behind his left ear. _No wonder he's had only two partners in his career. This Scully woman must be something of a gem, if she could stomach the man's theories and stay sane._

He leaned over in the chair to observe the two agents, sitting side by side. As they discussed the previous night's non-events, the tall man was looking down at the auburn-haired woman with gentleness and concern. Remembering the pair of drawn faces on CNN, he resolved that these two would not hear whispers behind their backs. He'd bend Abner's ear at the church to tell him to lay off the rumor-mongering. Besides, as a long-time law enforcement officer, he had learned to make quick judgments about suspects' emotional states, so all his senses told him that the agents were not secret lovers. Instead, their bond had been forged in the line of duty, to a strength greater than some thirty-year marriages he had seen.

"Agent Mulder?" The tall man looked over at him. "Why don't you two head back to Abner's and get ready for this afternoon? Allen and I need to make ourselves presentable before we meet our wives at 11:00."

-o-0-o-

Fortner's Family Inn  
Sunday, 9:53 am

Mulder stood behind the couch, then touched his partner's arm. "Scully?"

She stopped combing her wet hair to meet his gaze. They had both showered and changed from jeans into their professional suits.

"You feel like telling me what's on your mind?" When she nodded, he joined her on the sofa.

Envious that his short brown hair could dry so quickly, she turned to him. "It's my dream, Mulder."

He rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Not the nightmare, but the other dream, about the monks." She watched his mouth form into a silent O as he released her. "It was so real." She inhaled, searching for the right words. "All my senses were involved in it, which has never happened before. I could smell the salt air, feel the wind, hear the waves lapping against the boat. Was yours as vivid as that?"

He frowned, considering. "I can't say, Scully. It wasn't as intense as the nightmares I have about Sam or you." They locked eyes. "But, you're right, it did seem, *real*. I remember the feel of the cloth I was wearing, and the heat of the fire on my face as I burned it."

She leaned forward. "Is it the fatigue, do you think? Are our subconscious minds telling us to slow down?"

He shrugged. "Dreams have as many interpretations as we want to place on them, Scully. But sometimes they mean nothing at all." As his stomach rumbled, he grinned. "Feel like an omelette?"

After she smoothed her hair, Scully shook her head. "They'll be feeding us at the Church, Mulder, and you'll get all my fried chicken, I'm afraid." She smiled at her joke, hoping he would do the same, but her partner was still regarding her with that concerned big brother look she knew all too well. Since her humorous attempt to deflect his anxiety had failed, she spoke to his concern explicitly. "I'll be okay. I'm not about to fall apart in your arms again, no matter how tired I am."

Relieved she was addressing her problems, he touched her elbow. "No, Scully, I know you won't. We're both mending, I guess, but it has taken longer this time than either of us expected." He stared down at his hand. "I really don't know what to make of these dreams. We'll have to monitor them for patterns, just as we are this case."

She tossed her head. "More time on the couch, Dr. Freud?"

He stood over her. "Works for me." He walked to the door to open it with a flourish. "But first, we gotta go catch us a werewolf, Scully."

She groaned as he ushered her out.

-o-0-o-

First Baptist Church of Fordyce  
Sunday, 1:43 pm

Mulder leaned towards his partner after the minister finished praying over the food. "I didn't think places like this still existed."

The open, airy space with its crossed wooden beams was filled with folding wooden tables and brown metal chairs. The women had taped white paper tablecloths in place, adding a few evergreen boughs for decoration. Along one wall was the church's trophy cabinet, proudly displaying the evidence of multiyear championships for the men's and girls's softball teams. Winter's soft light shown in through the windows that occupied nearly the entirety of the back wall.

She smirked. "You were expecting this to be like Dudley?"

He rolled his eyes. "Good people, good food? I hope not, Scully, or everyone in the town will grow fangs at night."

She shook her head, but Sheriff Fortner interrupted them by touching her arm. "Guests first, Agents."

They followed him to the main serving table, laden with homebaked casseroles and desserts. Her partner loaded his plate with beans, tuna, and the ubiquitous fried chicken, while Scully carefully selected the least artery-clogging pasta salad she could find.

As the Sheriff escorted them back to their seats, he walked between the agents. "It seems they were all worried about their livelihoods, but in these hard times, were afraid to ask. Folks are relieved I asked the FBI to help me on this."

Scully nodded. _Until, that is, Mulder opens his mouth._

-o-0-o-

Once the meal concluded, Fortner walked to the front of the Fellowship Hall. The local television station had a two camera set-up running, one to record the speakers, the other to pan the assembled citizens. Their tiny NPR station had brought in phones and supplied volunteers to handle call-in questions.

Mulder admired the way the Sheriff calmly informed the assembled townspeople and farmers of their conclusions about the attacks. He had the map mounted on a wooden frame, using it to explain the pattern of destruction they had deduced. Gazing over the open, anxious faces, the Agent could tell this town had no dark secrets to hide, only a trouble they wished purged from their midst.

Fortner was winding down. "Now, folks, this is what we have to date. Agent Scully there will tell you about our forensic evidence."

The partners exchanged a glance before she rose to walk to the front and stand beside the Sheriff. She had sketched out the marks on a diagram of the Anderson cow's neck, drawn on a large artist's sketch pad. While Fortner held the paper, she pointed out the different pairs of indentations. The cameraman zoomed in for a close-up. Scully suggested the possibility that some oversized black feral canine had joined the coyotes to explain the large holes, but as Mulder had ribbed her, mentioned none of his speculations.

She asked the farmers to keep an eye out for any tracks in unexpected places, requesting they call the Sheriff's office if any were found. In conclusion, his partner reminded her listeners that any evidence should be left undisturbed until they could take a look at it.

As a tentative hand rose, she smiled at the weatherbeaten face under it. "Yes?"

"Are you suggesting from the pattern of attacks that those of us to the west are safe?"

Her answer was offered gravely. "I would only say those to the west are less likely to be hit with a loss, Sir. However, as you well know, predators will travel to wherever the food is, so if all the farmers to the east of this line-" She moved her hand down the map. "-pull their livestock into shelter and guard them, then the canines responsible for the attacks will begin to migrate back."

Mulder observed the nodding heads.

Another hand appeared. "So we should try to move the animals into sheds?"

She paused, then nodded once. "If you can, yes. The fewer losses the better, as I'm sure you'll all agree. If you do secure your livestock, inform the Sheriff, so we can disperse our resources accordingly."

The group began talking among themselves.

But his partner had not finished. "One final thing. These canines are obviously dangerous. If you encounter them and can avoid a confrontation, do so. From the marks, we could distinguish at least twelve different individuals, and no shotgun will be an equalizer against those odds."

The murmurs rose in volume.

"It's more important that we track these animals down to their point of entry than that one of you be killed by them. It isn't entirely clear that they haven't been introduced by a person or persons unknown."

The muttering was now accompanied by accusatory glances.

Scully stepped back to resume her seat, lifting one corner of her mouth at her partner. The assembly ended, several women regarding her with something approaching awe as they passed.

Mulder smirked. "They're not used to hearing a woman speak with authority, Scully; I should give you the big office."

She rolled her eyes. "No thanks, Mulder. You at least get our paperwork through the system, somehow. I'm afraid I'd tell Accounting off the first time they wanted a justification for our medical expenses. As for Travel, well, after I was finished with them-" She snorted self-deprecatingly. "-for the rest of our careers, all our airplane seats would be on the wings."

Sobering, he stood, one hand on the back of her chair to draw it out for her. "You have anything other than woman's intuition to back up the idea of human manipulation?"

She bounced easily to her feet. "Only a little group psychology."

He cocked his head. "Right. The locals will be less likely to shoot all the canines on sight if it's believed the attacks can be blamed on the slightly odd neighbor across the hollow." He held his arm out towards the door. "You inquisitors all think alike."

She flashed a glance of agreement as they exited.

-o-0-o-

Little Rise Farm  
Sunday, 11:36 pm

"Scu ... No!"

Dana Scully glanced down at her sleeping partner. He was flat on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, but the bottom half of his face was contorted into a grimace. _Oh, no, Mulder, not you too._ Kneeling beside him, she took his shoulders in her hands. _This is better than a tent. All he can wake here are cows, and they don't have orders from the Shadows to assassinate us._

Although none of them expected an attack, they, Sheriff Fortner, and his deputies were staking out the most likely strike locations for a second night. The farmers in the county had acted remarkably quickly, moving most of their animals into three-sided shelters for the duration of the long winter darkness. Even on this farm, only a few older animals were left outside as bait; the rest were under the manager's armed guard.

Scully smoothed the hair off his forehead, comforting him with her hands as well as her words. "Mulder, wake up, you're okay." Careful with his still-healing side, she rubbed his shoulders, repeating her reassurances. He kept muttering her name, so she knew he was reliving the hell of her abduction. As he had her, she finally sat him upright, cupping his cheek in her hand.

He stirred, but before she could move away, he had thrown his long arms out, pulling her against him tightly. "You're here Scully, you're alive and fine." As he awakened, the panic faded, so his breathing and heart-rate slowed.

She had seen him through enough of these to know he would release her shortly, with some sly crack about straight-laced Catholic girls. But, for now, he needed the reassurance that only physical contact would bring him, so she stroked his hair with the hand not pinned by his clutch, soothing him while his tears fell.

This had become something of a routine for them after she had been returned, each comforting the other after their respective night terrors had thrust them into consciousness. Even while they were so angry with each other, she would awaken to find him in her room, shaking with fear, but unwilling to ask for her help. That had hurt, worse than his rudeness, worse than his cutting comments, so she kept her panic inside, stifling her own pain. If they came out in her sleep, she would snarl at his concern as she slapped his hands away, then watch with satisfaction as he would crumble, finally snarling back.

But, not now, and, she hoped, never again. _How did you survive those long nights in Massachusetts when there was no one there for you?_ She found herself wondering, not for the first or last time, what cruelty had resided in the heart of Phoebe Green, as she had used this lonely, needy man for her emotional plaything, over and over.

One final sniffle, then she was free. "Sorry, Scully." The apology was whispered. She grasped his shoulder while checking out the window. "Anything?"

"No. I've been thinking though, Mulder." Turning the knob on the lantern slightly, she met his eyes as a faint glow illuminated their faces.

"Oh?" He was upset enough to need the sanity a rational discussion would bring.

"We've both mentioned our fears about the changes the X-Files will go through in the next few months."

Nodding, he hugged his knees to his chest. "We need the help, Scully. If anything, just to spread the risks around."

"I know, Mulder, but I'm talking about you and me, about our partnership." She sat on the upturned crate, where she could watch and talk.

"Oh?" The voice trembled slightly.

Scully touched his hand. "We've come this far since the Comity case because we've made an effort to change, to disagree without letting it become personal again. It was tough for both of us, I know, because all the time you were growing up, you never saw anything but two people who didn't get along. I never saw my parents fight, so I never knew how. Before we found the D'Amato papers, we were shouting at each other about our cases when it was really about ourselves, and that was fighting dirty, Mulder." Scully met his eyes, fixed on her face. "Since then, we've stayed in touch outside of work, getting to know one another as people, not just as agents."

"Yeah. I've appreciated being able to do that. Are you saying you want to stop?" Another quaver in his voice. _I need you, Scully._

"No, Mulder, but I'd like us to try something my parents did once we were all born." She shifted the crate closer to him. "They set aside a half an hour, each night, whenever my father was home, just for the two of them. For that time, they were not Captain and Mrs., not Daddy and Mommy, just Bill and Maggie. We knew to respect that, and it helped them stay close, even when they were apart." She felt his hand brush hers.

"You think we should do something similar?"

"Um-hum. I think we need to, Mulder. You and I are such different people that we have to have some time to connect. I don't care if it's over a lunch every other day, or dinner on Saturday. But we'll both become so focused on the X-Files again that before we know it, we'll be at each other's throats over Belief versus Science, or aliens versus humans."

He sighed, then was silent for a time.

"Mulder?"

Unwilling to trust his voice, he slid over near her. "Thank you, Scully." They stayed close, listening to each other breathe, until he found he could speak steadily. "If we want to get to the truth, this is an opportunity we have to seize, before the Shadows close ranks again. Losing you when you were abducted was hell. When we weren't talking last fall, I thought I was becoming invisible, even to myself. I won't let you go again."

She shifted on the box until her leg was touching his healthy side. "I want you to find Sam. I want to see you as whole as your past will let you be. You didn't ask for your family, or for her abduction, but you've been trying to make good on other people's debts all your life. You've taken care of me, even when I didn't want it, and I'll never be able to repay you for standing by me. All I can do in return is try to help you to some peace." She stopped.

He whimpered, leaning against her a little harder. _I owe you so much, Scully._

She touched his back. "Anyone who was your friend would want nothing less, Mulder." She heard the rustle of the sleeping bag as he slipped out of it, then his boots scraping the pine floor as he paced. Knowing he would reply when he was ready, she killed the light before turning to the window, passing time by counting the cows.

She felt his hands grasp her shoulders, then the warmth of his body as he pressed himself against her spine. They stayed like that for a while, watching and waiting.

Scully thought back to the previous February when she had huddled on his sofa, shaking with anxiety over her effort to reach out to this troubled man. _What we've been through since!_ She knew he was thanking her for her support in the only way his tortured childhood would allow.

She chewed her lip as a sudden thought struck her. _He doesn't know how to handle approval, or positive recognition._ Perhaps she had said too much and embarrassed him as she had at Thanksgiving, but tonight she didn't care. _Sometimes he needs to hear a kind word._ If her partner's reaction to his Mother's public praise was any guide, he probably heard none growing up.

With a final squeeze, he released her to settle back into the sleeping bag. He was silent for a time, but sleep would not come easily, so he turned over, facing where he knew she was. "Scully?"

She braced herself. _If he were a child, Dana, that tone of voice he's using would precede a request for a well-loved story. But, it's Mulder. Let's hope he's not looking for a rip-roaring argument about multiple realities or time travel._ "Hum?"

"Where do you see us in twenty years?"

She sighed. "In my worst fears, Mulder, I see us both dead and buried, lying in our respective graves."

He swallowed. _If I hadn't come to my senses, I'd be there already._ "Ugh, Scully, where else?"

"Or I see one of us dead and the other one struggling to barely hang on to his or her sanity."

"That's worse. Any *good* visions, Rosy Kate?"

Raising both eyebrows, she chuckled. _Maybe I can distract him so he'll sleep. I don't need a zombie tomorrow._ "Mulder! That was almost a Dana, you know. If you wanted to call me Kate ..."

"No fair! Don't change the subject, Scully."

She sighed. "Oh, okay. One or two. The best one is where we are the way we are right now, working and arguing, still trying to solve these insane, impossible cases you keep finding."

"Works for me." His considerably lighter tone and the rustle of the sleeping bag as he settled in relieved her of her concern.

Scully knew she would never shake his belief that there was more out there than most people would be willing to admit. Likewise, he would never shake hers that humans would eventually work it all out. She also knew they would quarrel over the years about those exact things, but that they would seek answers together.

Looking over to where she could hear his deep, regular breathing, she smiled. _You *will* find Sam, Mulder, and live to tell your nieces and nephews about it._ She frowned. _Just because you'll never have children, why do you expect the same for him, Dana? No, even after he finds Sam, he'll still be chasing the great unknowns of the universe. How could he settle for a gabled house and white picket fences when there are poltergeists and mutants running loose? Could you?_ Scully chuckled and gazed out the window again. _Five hours to go. Sleep well, partner._

-o-0-o-

Little Rise Farm  
Monday, January 20, 1997  
8:13 am

Mulder awoke to bright light and Dana Scully's face. He coughed.

She felt his forehead. "You're not sick again, are you?"

"No, just thirsty."

She passed him a bottle of water.

He spluttered again at the cold liquid. "What time is it?"

"Almost time for Fortner's eight fifteen check-in." They heard the four wheel drive pull up, so Scully opened the shed door.

"You folks all right?"

She nodded. "Nothing?"

He shrugged. "We'd better see something tomorrow, or I'll have a bunch of angry citizens to answer to."

Mulder chuckled. "Somehow, Sheriff, I don't think we'll be that fortunate. You've heard from all your deputies?"

Fortner nodded. "Yep. Nothing strange in the night at all." The older man took in their somber faces. "Hop in, you look worried or something."

As he drove them back to his cousin's hotel, he asked polite questions about Washington, but was not surprised to hear Mulder explain that they were both too busy for much sightseeing.

"My cousin's girl works in the State Department, and she hasn't been to the Smithsonian these past five years." Fortner stopped the truck at the front door of the Inn. "Well, this is where you get out."

They nodded their farewells, agreeing to return to the Sheriff's office by noon.

Mulder offered his hand to his partner.

Fortner smiled as she took it as she stepped down. _Don't see many good manners these days, even though she could probably throw him over her shoulder in a fair fight._

-o-0-o-

Fortner's Family Inn  
Monday, 8:57 am

Scully relaxed as she slid in the steaming tub, letting the chill of the shed ooze out of her. _Remember you physics, Dana, it's the heat diffusing in._ Closing her eyes, she sank into the water up past her chin. There was something to be said for Mulder's approach to these out of town cases, to take advantage of whatever relaxation the situation offered.

Her partner having showered first, he was now commenting loudly about Mr. Rochester as he ran "Jane Eyre" in reverse through the VCR. She chuckled as he tried various accents for Orson Welles, then raised her head to stare at the door when the phone rang.

"Mulder." A pause. "We'll be right there."

When he knocked, she was toweling herself off. "What happened, Mulder?"

He spoke quietly through the barrier, rose-colored hyacinths in diagonal stripes on the opalescent stained-glass panel. "There's been a murder, Scully."

-o-0-o-

End - Rustic Suite - Courante


	4. Saraband

=====o================================================o=====

_Rustic Suite_ by Mary Ruth Keller

_Saraband_ (adagio)

=====o================================================o=====

Red Pine Poultry  
Monday, January 20, 1997  
10:17 am

The victim was a farmer who lived just over the county line. While Fortner had alerted his counterparts promptly, they had not been so diligent in informing their citizenry. The agents were standing over the torn body of a slender man in his sixties.

The Sheriff sighed. "Richard Marshall. He served in the Korean War with my uncle."

Scully, who was finished examining the corpse's neck, shook her head as she rose. "Well, Mulder, you were right. We weren't so fortunate."

Her partner frowned. "As were you, Scully. They went where the food was." The man's shotgun lay beside him, the body and weapon both not twenty feet away from another mutilated cow. Mulder's cursory survey revealed the same pattern of death and damage. "Now what? How do we track them out here?"

Scully walked to stand beside him. "We'll get the state troopers involved."

Sighing, he mentally prepared himself for a long stay. "Yeah, we'll send messages for broadcast on the local TV and radio stations in the surrounding counties. I had thought this some extra-normal phenomenon, Scully, but now I'm sure it's just predation by a pack of wild animals. We have to stop them before they kill again."

Fortner cleared his throat. "Sheriff Lewis can bring in a few bloodhounds to track them down, now that it's happening in his county, Agents. With all the extra help, you don't have to stay. We can handle things here."

The red-haired woman arched a red brow. "No. We'll see this through. It's our case, and we'll be able to bring in outside expertise if the dogs turn up anything new."

Fortner regarded the pair gravely.

-o-0-o-

Rural Arkansas  
Monday, 3:57 pm

After the dogs had backtracked to Marshall's house, they finally caught the scent of the pack. The agents were following on foot with the two county Sheriffs and their deputies. The trail had taken them further to the north, away from Fordyce. Finally, the group reached a clearing in the pine forest where the hounds stopped, baying and milling about in confusion. The partners exchanged a glance, then began combing the field for burn marks or flattened patches of grass. They, too, were blocked by a lack of evidence.

Mulder kicked at the long blades in frustration. "Where are they? What am I missing?"

Scully pushed her hair behind her ear. "I don't know. They have to be somewhere; they weren't just beamed up."

-o-0-o-

An intense pair of eyes watched the scene from the cover of the woods, their owner amused by the consternation on the agents' faces. His revenge was growing sweeter; the look the tall man sent skyward made him wish he had a camera. The cost of the helicopter had been worth every penny. The coyotes were well away from here by now, back on his ranch near Maud.

Once he discovered his nemesis' interest in UFO's, it had taken months to train the wild canines. But the addition of the timber wolf had been inspired genius, driving Mulder to seek the paranormal where there was none to be found. He had sat outside the courthouse in an old beaten-up truck, hearing the argument between the agent and his partner about werewolves, watching her back down, then begin developing strategies.

He hadn't planned on Mulder having a partner; the agent had been a dedicated loner in Behavioral Sciences. According to the rumors in the town, they were lovers here on a tryst, as if he cared. Halberstam only wanted the Fox. If he was leaving a Vixen and kits behind, too bad. It would only make his fruitless struggles at the end more demoralizing, his vengeance more complete.

-o-0-o-

Fordyce Sheriff's Office  
Monday, 7:34 pm

"Scully, I'm just not seeing something." Since their return to this building, her partner had been unable to sit for more than a few seconds.

After urging them both to get a good night's sleep, Fortner had left them shortly before 6:45.

Scully walked from the conference room over to where he was staring at the Dallas county map. "I think so too, Mulder." As he looked down at her, she, in her fatigue, focused on his unshaven chin. "The thing I keep coming back to is this: we have a case with all the appearances of canine predation, except for the missing tongues, and now the vanished animals. You and the Sheriff may have been right about this being a hoax, but I don't think it's a poorly executed one, not at all."

He turned to face her as she leaned against the wall. "Oh?"

She began pacing, tired, but driven to share her conclusions. "I think this is all targeted at you for some reason, Mulder. It is enough like UFO-style cattle mutilations to pique your interest, just enough to bring you down here, but not so similar that you could decide immediately and return home. Nor is it different enough that we would call in the rest of the Bureau's resources."

He nodded. "You think someone wants me here, for a while anyway. But what about you? How does it involve you?"

She shook her head. "I don't think I'm part of the plan." Scully watched his face darken.

"Then you should head back to DC. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you on a case this insignificant. It may be our new adversaries who have planted all this..." He paused when she stepped in front of him.

"No, I don't think so. This is too subtle for the crew we're up against now, after the recent coup. I would have expected it from the Old Men, but McConnell and his Group prefer brute force." She unconsciously rubbed her wrist.

Mulder noticed it was still slightly swollen. He moved a little closer to her, trying to shield her with his body from the forces raged against them.

She lifted an eyebrow, sending him a reminder of her self-sufficiency, but her up-curved lips thanked him for his concern.

They stayed close while he mentally reviewed her conclusions. "So someone wants me here, for revenge? Punishment?"

She shrugged.

He reached in his jacket for his cell phone. "I'll call Behavioral Sciences. They have records on file of the cases I was involved in, so they can tell me if any of the killers I helped convict is free on parole. None of them have served long enough to be released for their crimes otherwise."

-o-0-o-

Fortner's Family Inn  
Monday, 10:18 pm

Mulder stared at the list of names over and over while he tracked a path back and forth in the deep pile of the rose-colored carpet. His feet pressed down on red and green yarns as well, their colors woven in the shapes of carnations and lilies in spiral designs. Twenty-five men had been jailed as a result of his work before the X-Files. Outside of Boggs, all but two were still incarcerated. They had died in 1994 and 1995, respectively.

Scully was watching him from her seat on the sofa. "Fortner agreed with us, you know."

He nodded, not bothering with a spoken response.

"But your list is incomplete."

Now he looked over at her.

"Those aren't all your cases."

He snorted. "Oh, you wanted them to include the seven acquittals as well? All of them were guilty, Scully. If you had been working with me then I might have been focused enough to convict the rest." He dropped the paper on top of the television, then slumped on the sofa beside her. "Three were released because of improper search warrants, but those were Paterson's job to obtain. The other four were acquitted because we either couldn't find the evidence to support my profiles they all fitted or else the defense found flaws in my work." Growling angrily at his failure, he stalked to the window. "Why would any of them be after me, Scully? They beat me."

Standing beside him, she read the darkness of his years under Paterson's charge in his eyes, when the man had driven him to the brink of insanity for his own ends. Her partner, needy of the approval yet another father figure would purposely withhold from him, had allowed himself to be used again. Scully grasped his elbow to shake it. "Stop it, Mulder. I won't let you torture yourself now. You and I both need a full night's sleep so we can function tomorrow."

Pursing his lips, he stared down at her, attempting to think of a sarcastic jibe to drive her away, as he had driven away everyone while under his former mentor's tutelage. But the fiercely protective light in her eyes stopped him, so he sent his gratitude in a lopsided grin. "I still want to check out those omelettes, Scully. They're supposed to give us the strength we need to use this room for its rightful purpose."

She punched him lightly on the arm, relieved he was refusing to descend into his well of self-pity.

-o-0-o-

Sal's Diner  
Monday, 10:56 pm

"You folks the agents from the FBI?" Snapping her gum loudly, the waitress slipped her pencil out of her bleached beehive hair, waiting as she stared at the dark-haired man.

The decor of the diner was classic American kitsch, the long counter that ran the length of the right side of the room covered by white linoleum with gold flecks. The synthetic leather on the fixed stools beneath it was the same burnt color as the rest of the booths, which wrapped from the back of the dining area around under the side and the front windows, ending at a yellowed, broken jukebox.

Mulder was checking his partner's expression, which told him she was mightily displeased with the entrees. He leaned back, a loud squeak emanating from the orange vinyl of the booth as he did. "Yes, Ma'am, we are." He glanced quickly at his partner but only glimpsed the top of Scully's head, since her face was now buried in the menu. Her eyes were about level, he knew, with those of the smiling, dancing pink pig in a chef's hat on the cover. "I'd like to have the triple ham omelette, with the hash browns and biscuits, extra gravy please." He smiled sweetly at the tall, bony woman in a mid-thigh turquoise polyester dress, who was scratching on her pad.

"That comes with three links of sausage for only twenty-five cent extra, yah know."

He leaned towards her, noting the badge with 'Hi, my name is Carol' in large friendly letters, beside a smaller rendition of the same naked, rotund boar. "I hope it's real *pork* sausage, Carol, not any of that healthy vegetarian stuff." He caught one green-blue eye fixed on him.

The waitress sighed, resting one hand in a pocket of a stained white apron she wore over her shift. "Yes, Sir, all made local. You, Ma'am?"

Scully closed the menu. "I'll have the turkey sandwich. No chips." She looked up at the waitress. "With mustard, not mayonnaise."

The gum snapped as the pencil flew. "Ooh, on a diet *are* we?"

Assuming a mask of stoic suffering, the agent ignored the woman's jibe. After Carol shouted their orders into the kitchen, Scully leaned over to her partner. "There are not one, but *two* strikes against the meal you've ordered tonight, yah know."

He hunched over until they were nose to nose, resting his head on one hand. "Yeah, all my ancestors are spinning in their graves, Scully. I'm sure if you go back a few generations, you'll find a rabbi or two, but it really doesn't matter, does it?"

She frowned. "What doesn't matter?"

He settled back to sip his coffee. "Being God's Chosen People." He snorted. "It didn't help much with Hitler, or the Pogroms, or the Inquisition, or..."

"Mulder!"

He lifted an eyebrow at her. "What, Scully, I'm just telling the truth."

"I know, but despite all those odds, the contributions of men and women of Jewish ancestry to western culture has been enormous! Take music, for instance, with Mendelssohn, Mahler, Schoenberg, the Strauss family, or in the sciences, with Einstein, Meitner, and Freud, just to name the most famous ones."

He shook his head. "Thank you for reminding me, but I'm not about to start wearing a skull cap to work." Leaning back, Mulder checked on the progress of the cook with their food.

She cocked her head. "No, since this is *you* we're discussing, it would have a little rotating spaceship on top."

He grinned, knowing she would leave off the weighty lectures tonight.

She dropped her voice into a dark tease. "But, if you do, I'm poking you to see if you leak green goo."

When she tapped his wrist, his eyes glittered. He had been waiting for this next objection with a ready riposte.

Scully put on her best stern doctor manner. "I will not be responsible for your heart attack on this trip, Mulder."

He interlaced his fingers on his green plastic placemat. "Here I was hoping you would use all your emergency skills on me. No mouth to mouth resuscitation?" He pouted.

She straightened, crossing her arms. "That's no problem. Sheriff Fortner is a qualified paramedic, and he wants to see this case solved as much as you and I do. I'm sure he could handle that part while I pound on your chest."

He grimaced playfully. "Ooh, Scully, I'll have to order that whip and hat for you yet."

She propped her head up with a fist under her chin, and her eyes glinted back. "Cheapskate! I suppose I'll have to supply the warrior princess outfit myself."

The surprise that registered on his face awarded her a temporary victory, but he could not concede without attempting to have the last word. "Scully! Have you been watching my-" His retort was cut off by the waitress, who was returning with her sandwich.

Carol let the plate clunk loudly on the table as she disdainfully repeated the order to Scully.

The agent nodded her thanks, sobering as the woman left. "Seriously, Mulder, there is something I won't back down on tonight."

He dropped the contents of two sugar packets in his coffee, then raised his eyes to hers. "The bed thing?"

"You need it. Sleeping on a wooden floor for two nights is no good for your rib-cage."

He stirred carefully, then tapped the spoon on the rim of the cup before looking over at her, a hopeful smirk on his lips.

"*Alone*, Mulder."

"Scully, you take all the joy out of my miserable existence."

While sipping the weak grey brew, she chuckled at his backhanded compliment. "And I'll go prematurely grey looking out for you, so I think we're even." She knew from his sigh that his mind had returned to the case.

"Tomorrow, I'd like to get exhumation orders for the two men who died."

"You think one of the graves may be empty?"

He nodded. "It's happened before. We can also call the various prisons and ask them to verify the identity of the others." He spun the cup around in the saucer by pushing on the handle with his finger. "I should have left this one alone, shouldn't I?" His hazel eyes fixed on hers, seeking reassurance.

"No, if this is deliberately aimed at you, the sooner we get this solved, the fewer people will suffer." She watched him sink into himself. "We'll find this guy, Mulder. At least in this case we'll be able to stamp it closed and feel like we nailed a perp."

He glanced over at her unexpected turn of phrase.

-o-0-o-

Fortner's Family Inn  
Tuesday, January 21, 1997  
3:45 am

Gasping, Mulder forced his eyes open. "Scully?" His voice was quiet but demanding.

She rolled off the couch to stand by the bed, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Was it bad or just strange?"

He shrugged. "Neither, only different." After he sat up, he slid shakily off the bed to follow her back to the sofa, where she offered him her glass of water. After he had drained it of its chilled contents, he sighed. "I'm still run down from the homeless case so I'm not thinking straight." He placed the tumbler, decorated with painted pink rosebuds around the rim, on one of the end tables.

"Then let's try to work out what's eating you, Mulder." She wrapped her arms around her blanketed knees, facing him. "Just start talking. That's how this therapy is supposed to work, isn't it?"

He grinned at her while tugging one of the grey covers over his own legs. "Yeah, I guess."

"Tell me about the dream."

He rubbed his chin. "It was like, no, it *was* ancient Greece. I'm certain of that. Only I was a woman, and you were a man."

She raised an eyebrow at the mental image, so he returned her amusement with a smirk. Scully waved her hand to prompt him to continue.

"You'll like this one too. I was sold into slavery by my family, and you were the man who bought me."

Now his partner was grinning broadly, leaning against the back of the couch. "Mulder, you're right, these dreams mean absolutely nothing. You've just been away from your videotapes too long."

He frowned. "Scully! It wasn't like that at all!"

She lifted her head to focus on his face. His mournful expression sobered her, so she wrapped her arms around her knees again. "Oh? Go on."

"I wasn't from Greece, and you had to teach me how to speak the language, little by little. Once I could, you set me free, but I had nowhere to go, so I stayed with you."

"Hunh. That's strange."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Mulder, mine was set in ancient Greece as well, only you were the Delphic Oracle, and I was the priest of Apollo assigned to interpret your gibbering. The messages were for the delegation from Athens after Xerxes entered Thessaly in Greece."

He raised both eyebrows. "*The* Delegation from Athens? Did I issue both prophesies, or did I get it right the first time?"

Shaking her head, she tucked her blanket more tightly around her legs and hips. "But the Oracle had it right both times." Her eyes twinkling, she recited both divinations from memory, Mulder joining her after a few words. "You see, the Athenians had to abandon the Acropolis to the Persians, many shrines were destroyed, much too much blood flowed, and they did grieve."

He nodded. "The Athenians did defeat the Persians with their wooden walls at Divine Salamis." Smirking, he placed a hand on his chest. "I'm honored Scully, you won't admit it while you're awake, but your unconscious mind knows the *truth*: I'm such a smart guy, I figure it all out before our cases even begin."

"Mulder! Herodotus wrote after the war. For all we know, those prophesies could have been as meaningful as the witches's predictions in MacBeth."

Sobering, he stared at her for a while. "Is that how you feel about me, Scully, that you have to interpret the ravings of a lunatic for the rest of the world?"

She frowned, considering her answer carefully.

"Scully?"

She focused on his face. "I used to, Mulder, especially last year, when we were so angry with each other. Back then, I didn't want to be around when you opened your mouth, for fear I'd die of embarrassment."

He tipped his head. "But now?"

"Now, I understand that your theories are the jumping-off points for further investigation. Neither of us is right the first time, usually, and if we just keep looking, we'll find the answer is somewhere between your idea and mine. We had to learn to listen to each other, to look together rather than run away and traverse separate paths, each missing the evidence the other was finding."

Mulder smirked. "Scully, that's the most long-winded way yet you've found to say sometimes I'm as loony as a bat, and sometimes you can't see the forest for the trees."

She shook her head. "Whatever, Mulder. Oh, and I see another interpretation to my dream you haven't thought of yet, Doctor Freud."

"Oh?"

"Yes, the Oracle wasn't mad, she was just inhaling fumes from a volcano that made her hallucinate. She was considered a slave to the god, to Phoebus."

"Scully! Are you saying you consider me enslaved to Phoebe still?" As she nodded, he grew thoughtful. "Hunh. I'll have to think about that." He brightened. "So explain mine?"

She shrugged. "You feel like I'm teaching you the scientific method, that other language so you can be free?"

He nodded. "You see it that way, too."

She shrugged, moving into a cross-legged posture on the couch. "Great minds, Mulder."

"By the way, with all your work on your advanced degrees, when did you find time to read Herodotus?"

"Advanced degrees? Did Mom tell you about that?"

He nodded. "She also told me why you were in bed for a week after finishing Medical School."

Scully hugged her knees to her chest. "That was the hardest thing I ever had to do, Mulder, to quit when I was so close to that doctorate. It was after that I decided to become an FBI Agent. I had to prove to myself I could have pushed myself to finish."

He leaned over to touch her hand. "Why didn't you just take a few months off and recover, then go back?" When Scully rubbed her face, he realized she was trying not to cry. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me."

She shook her head, replying in a whisper. "The work was really cutting edge. By the time I recovered, two other groups had found the answer first, and I would have had to start all over. I didn't have another four years of working that hard in me, Mulder, and I needed to make a living somehow."

He narrowed his eyes. "So you joined the FBI instead. That was what disappointed your Father, really, wasn't it? Not that you didn't become a regular doctor, but that you abandoned the doctorate for the Bureau?"

She gritted her teeth. "Yes, Mulder, it was."

Hoping to lift her spirits, he slid over beside her. "If my vote counts, Scully, I'm glad you did. Otherwise I'd be reading the paper one day, trying to figure out why this cute red-headed thirty-two year old is winning two Nobel prizes the same year." He raised both eyebrows.

She crinkled her nose at him. "Flatterer."

Grinning, he poked her shoulder. "Worked."

Scully dropped her face on her knees. "I suppose. So, if these dreams are about how we view ourselves and each other, then my first dream must be telling me I think we are equals on a journey of exploration together through the X-Files, right?"

He moved closer until his side was touching her calves. "I'm glad you feel that way." He ducked to see her face. "You do, don't you?" As she nodded, he broke into a broad grin. "My first dream told me something important too. I could just as easily work with *you* as the Section Head, I hope you realize."

She tilted her head. "Really, Mulder? I thought being able to boss me around officially would be your fondest dream." His immensely sad expression startled her. "Mulder! Are you serious?"

He nodded. "I don't know how many ways I have to tell you this, Scully, but I don't want your obedience. I want your razor sharp wits and intellect operating freely on every case, regardless of the conclusions you reach. Isn't that part of the Scientific Method, that nothing is sacred?"

Stunned, she leaned against the upright cushions. "Yes, Mulder, it is. You *are* learning the language."

He slid into his corner. "I guess the staying with you bit is on the money, too."

Scully lifted one corner of her mouth. "Great. We'll be the oldest partners in the FBI, still writing separate reports, and delivering them in our dueling wheelchairs for an even more ancient Walter Skinner to sign off on."

He smirked. "But mine will have racing stripes, Scully."

She sobered. "For a while, at least, we should be considering what these nighttime mental musings mean."

Stretching his legs along the edge of the sofa, he put his hands behind his head. "Yeah, and in a way, this is good. We *are* learning more about each other, plus this has turned into an interesting investigation."

Startled, she stared at him. "You didn't think this was a real case when you dragged me down here, did you?"

He shrugged.

"You aren't hiding any football tickets, are you?"

He regarded her with a look of naked anguish. "No, Scully, don't bring up Minneapolis. I worked as hard as I could to get you back, But I almost didn't make it to you in time." He crossed his arms over his chest.

She reached down to pat his foot. "Hey, I was joking. That was no cake-walk for me either. At one point, Phaster was keeping me in a closet, and he came in to check on me. I thought I saw the faces of all the monsters this century has produced in his, Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini." She shuddered.

He dropped his arm along the back of the sofa, pulling himself over beside her again, close enough to touch her fingers. "You were right, you know."

She cocked her head. "Oh?"

"Serial killers like Donnie Phaster didn't really appear until the late Nineteenth Century, until the modern era."

"So somehow you think the capability for mass destruction with weapons of war and by stalking predators related?"

He shrugged. "Other than that we have so many more people to kill with them, no. But, it *is* curious that we, as a species, only indulge in mass murder and ritual slaughter when we have a surplus of humans." He raised both hands in an 'I don't know' gesture. "I'm not saying it's an X-File, Scully, just that it's an interesting observation."

She sighed. "Well, partner, on that cheerful note, I'm checking out. Someone has to sleep sometime."

"Right."

Settling back in their corners, they extinguished their lights.

-o-0-o-

Oklahoma State Penitentiary  
Tuesday, 4:37 pm

Dana Scully zipped the body bag closed over the remains of Kilmer Davies, the only dead convict she would autopsy today. Upon further checking, Mulder had discovered an error in the Behavioral Sciences records, that Alfred Hoskins was indeed alive and well, for the present, on death row in Kentucky. She stepped out of the morgue, dropping her surgical gear in the trash as she passed the container.

Her partner was pacing by the outer door, alternately pallid and flushed. Davies had not been a easy autopsy for her to perform. After only fourteen months in the ground, the body was still recognizably that of the man in question, so Mulder had been forced to excuse himself after a cursory examination. Decay had morphed his features and the stench had been fierce enough to disturb even her professional composure, but for Mulder's sake, she endured long enough to verify the cause of death. Now they both hurried outside into fresh air, taking deep breaths to calm their queasiness.

Scully looked up at her partner. "What about the others?"

He shrugged. "I've had a video image of each prisoner sent to me via FAX, Scully." He thrust his hands in his pockets. "They're all the men I remember." He stared at the ground. "I need to go for a walk."

She touched his elbow. "Feel like some company?"

Mulder looked over at her flushed face. "That bad for you too?" When she nodded, he jerked his head towards the park they could see across the street. The weather was mild for this time of year, with temperatures in the upper fifties, so he held the door for her to retrieve their coats, then they headed out.

-o-0-o-

The partners stood on a small bridge looking down over a man-made lake. The wild greenery that would appear in the spring, and overgrow the banks in the summer, was non-existent now. They could see the original concrete siding in the conduits leading into the lake proper.

"It's not red, Mulder."

"I'm glad. That was the second time someone almost made a meal out of you, Scully."

She grimaced. "I somehow don't think, even without a photographic memory, I'm likely to forget that."

He glanced down at her, then gazed over the still water, his hands in his pockets. "Fordyce is nothing at all like Dudley. When we came down here, I was expecting a town of 5500 in rural Arkansas to be real Hicksville." He started down the bridge, waiting for her to catch up before pointing at three benches on the far side of the lake. "But I was wrong. The media hook-up to communicate your briefing to the rest of the county was first rate."

She dipped her head once. "Did you know Fortner is trying to convince the city council to buy him a computer so he can convert the town's records to electronic media for historians to study?"

Raising both eyebrows, he looked down at her. "And you offered to set up a LINUX box for him?"

She lifted one corner of her mouth, then tucked her hand behind his elbow. Scully had worked long enough with this man to read his emotional states properly, most of the time. The way he pressed her hand into his side reassured her that this was not his 'I can't stand the rest of the world leave me alone' frame of mind. Had that been his mood, he would have charged off the police station steps without a word; she would have had to let him go. Rather, this was his ceaseless 'I need to know I'm not crazy' introspection that required her active participation.

After walking in silence for a few minutes, he looked down at her, hesitancy written in his lips and eyes.

Scully had been waiting for his unspoken request. "Spill, Mulder."

He glanced at the water. "You mentioned last night that it will be good, as you so dramatically put it, to 'nail a perp.' I don't know about that." They locked eyes. "Have you ever read 'Busman's Honeymoon'?" His heel knocked loose a piece of gravel in the path so they stopped while she picked it out of her black flat pump.

"The fourth Peter Wimsey-Harriet Vane mystery?"

"Um-hum."

She looked up at him as they continued circling the lake. "You're thinking of the scene at the end, where Wimsey is nervous while he knows the execution is taking place?"

He nodded. "You know me too well. I didn't find those until after I left Behavioral Sciences, and I understood how he felt. Most of the men I profiled ended up on death row, Scully, but because of our extensive appeals system, except for Boggs, none has had his sentence carried out." He stepped over a low fence, then extended his arm to her. After she passed over, he tucked her hand back under his elbow before they resumed walking at a pace that was almost a stroll, for Mulder.

Scully checked her partner's eyes. While they were dark and brooding, as they were now, he would continue to share his torments with her, even though she had expected him to quickly terminate their discussion with a jibe.

His repossession of her hand told her he needed her full attention and cooperation, so she continued. "Unlike Wimsey, who had to suffer almost immediately."

"Right. I don't know which is worse, Scully. Even though I'm sure they were all guilty, I still worry I might be sending an innocent man to his death based purely on my intuition."

She shook her head. "But it wasn't only your intuition, Mulder. The rest of the unit used your profiles to gather evidence to back you up." As he sighed, she raised an eyebrow. "Didn't they?"

"Most of the time." He was staring out over the water as they walked, so she found herself guiding his steps to keep him on the dirt path.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. For four of the cases, the accused fit the profile so well, and there was so little physical evidence, the prosecution went on my work-up alone." When she stopped suddenly, he looked down at her.

"Did you win?"

"On two yes, and on two, no." They had reached the three wood and steel benches set at right angles to each other, so she sat where she could look at him and out over the water. There was a run-off pipe for cooling water from the nearby coal-burning power plant in front of them, so the browned winter grass was slightly green around the lake's edge. He stood for a moment, watching steam curl out of the pipe, then sat down on a bench opposite her.

"Mulder?" He raised his eyes to hers. "Tell me about the two who got off, even with the physical evidence."

"Yeah, you may have been right, Scully. If it's no one I convicted, then it must be one of those four. We had good psychological and physical cases for both of them. More tangible proof in each than we've managed to collect in all our X-Files put together."

"But?"

He shrugged. "Defense lawyers. One was an ex-judge who did all the classic bits." He waved his arm. "White suit, slow drawl, witty asides to the jury, until by the end, he had those twelve people eating out of his hand. We didn't have a chance."

"And?"

"The other was a blindingly brilliant woman who tore me to bits. She looked like Phoebe, acted like her too." Standing, he walked to the lake's edge, picked up a stone, then threw it across the water. "I think she spent more prep time figuring out what made me tick than what was wrong with our evidence. She had me saying something I didn't believe in the morning and denying I'd said it in the afternoon."

Scully nodded. "Once she had destroyed your credibility, she could insinuate the data were fabricated to support your 'faulty' profile."

He kicked the grass before sitting again. "Yeah. Paterson was livid. I was already a wreck from her, then he parked me in his office and tanned my hide for two hours." He hunkered down in the long trench coat. "What was weirder was that when it was over, she shook my hand, said she hoped there were no hard feelings." Mulder looked up at his partner. "Then she asked me out."

She rolled her eyes. "Just what you needed, I'm sure. But the first two, the ones with no supporting evidence."

"Yeah?"

Scully stood now, crossing over to sit beside him. "I think it was one of them. Don't you see, it was you against the defendant. If they were all serial killers, one of them might have been unstable enough to see this as a mano-a-mano thing. He would feel it was a personal duel between you two that he couldn't consider won until you were as dead as he felt you wanted him to be."

Her partner was nodding at her analysis. "Maybe, Scully. It's all we have to go on right now." As his cell phone jangled, they looked down at his chest, then lifted it out of his pocket. "Mulder." He listened. "Okay, we'll start back."

She was on her feet before he terminated the call. "Yes?"

They began jogging back to the car, moving together towards a solution. Once they reached their vehicle, Mulder panted in his partner's ear while he held the door open for her. "Fortner has a cassette with a message he thinks is from the man behind all this, Scully."

By the time they pulled out of the parking lot, she had caught her breath, so she spoke in her normal tone of voice. "Actually my favorite Wimsey-Vane novel was 'Gaudy Night.' It was so complex, such a thorough discussion of the problems women have merging family and career that it could have been written in the Eighties, not the Thirties." She tugged at her shoulder belt. She was short enough that the strap to the overhead always choked her, and whenever possible, she would slip out of it, despite his fussing.

Catching her sliding the fabric over her head, he scolded her through gritted teeth. "Scully! I will *not* be the one to tell your Mother why you're scratched to bits if we're in an accident."

She glared at him, pulling the belt back in front of her. "Oh, I thought you would love the chance to say told-you-so."

He shook his head, checking the side view mirror before pulling onto the Interstate.

-o-0-o-

Somewhere over Arkansas  
between Oklahoma City and Little Rock  
Tuesday, 10:37 pm

Mulder looked out the small window over the left wing of the commuter plane. Once they landed, he and Scully would be driving back to Fordyce to hear the voice on the tape. Fortner had summarized the message over the phone when Mulder had called to inform him of their itinerary. The speaker rambled about vengeance and foxes, hunting hounds and spirits of the night. Mulder rested his head on the seat back, closing his eyes for a moment. He could hear Scully's relaxed breathing next to him, so he opened the right one to look down and check her. Her head had fallen over on her left shoulder, her hair catching in the black wool of his suit coat.

By mutual agreement, they had detoured to drive by the site of the Alfred P. Murrah Building, paying silent tribute to those who had lost their lives in a single horrible moment almost two years earlier. Langly had connected the new Group to that terrible bombing, and it made him shudder. It was easier to chase mutants or ghosts, in a way, than to track perfectly normal humans who had chosen to be monsters, killing for a cause, or for no reason at all.

Scully stirred, raising her head, then yawning.

He thought back to their discussion in the car. "It was my favorite too, you know."

She blinked at him, collecting her thoughts. "Really? But it was all about Harriet, about her thoughts and fears, her hopes and dreams."

He nodded. "I know, that's why I liked it. Too often, only the male point of view is explored, even by female authors. I was disappointed when we stopped reading what went on in her head in 'Busman's Honeymoon'." He checked the pattern of lights on the ground before he continued. "Maybe we should give the book to your Mom to read."

She sighed. "It wouldn't help, Mulder. She would skip all the contemplation, complain that there wasn't much of a mystery there, *and*, I'd get subtle hints about proposals in Latin from Oxford-educated detectives."

They locked eyes.

He smirked. "Oh, I should be writing you notes in dead languages if I want you to succumb to my charms, Doctor Scully?"

She wrinkled her nose.

He patted his right shoulder in invitation. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you before we land."

Shaking her head, she shifted around in the tight seat. "Ugh. Then we have a two hour drive back to Fordyce. But at least we've narrowed the list of suspects down to two. Tell me about them, Mulder."

He nodded, staring out the window while she waited. He began speaking without checking her face. "One was Andrew Albert Phillips, the quietest guy you could ever meet. He lived alone on an old farm in Alabama with his mother. People only ever saw him at the feed store or church. His father had died under mysterious circumstances in an accident in the barn when Phillips was fourteen."

"You think that was his first murder?"

He looked down at her. "Yeah, I'm sure of it. It was the same MO as the five others who died. On the outside, the guy was perfect. And I do mean *perfect*. He had attended this little born-again church, the Children of God's Love, or something, every Sunday since he was five. *Every* *Sunday*, without fail. He had perfect attendance from first grade through high school graduation. He made all A's in every class, in every grade."

She nodded. "And every murder was so perfectly executed it looked like an accident or suicide."

Grinning, he tapped her shoulder. "Exactly. That's why I considered him the only possible suspect. It was my profile against the model citizen, and the jury was swayed by his character, thanks to another classic defense lawyer presentation."

"So he was acquitted?"

He nodded. "Every so often, I read about another accident or sudden death down in Childersburg, where he lives, and I know it's him. But, he's off, free for the rest of his life." He pounded the armrest between them.

Scully frowned.

"The other guy was the exact opposite, Steven Halberstam. His family was wealthy beyond any imagining, so on the surface he was the typical rich wild kid, but under it all, he was cold as ice. He has a super-high IQ, so he would plan the murders elaborately, but could choose the victims on a whim, just like he spent money. The problem with his case was that four of the murders were meticulously planned, four were spur of the moment copies. All the pairs were different, so outside of their following the pattern of his life, there was no linkage between them."

She touched his right fist, the knuckles white and raised. He had dug his nails into the palm of his hand, and she wanted to stop him before he drew blood. If they had been seated somewhere he had the freedom to move, Scully knew her partner would be pacing, trying to climb the walls in his frustration. But, in this confined space, all he could do was punish himself for his failure, so she began asking questions to distract him. "How did he get off, Mulder, more lawyers?"

He nodded. "A veritable fleet, Scully. This was right after the woman barracuda, so I was a real basket case the whole time, which didn't help. Paterson was so angry with me he was ready to hang me out to dry, and he assigned minimal back-up to me."

She slipped her left hand into the reclenched fist, relieved he relaxed his grip enough to admit her fingers. Scully felt sticky wetness in his palm, so forced her hand over the cuts. "He wanted you to prove yourself."

His eyes unfocused, Mulder nodded. "I failed. I made one mistake in the profile by assuming the killer had a fear of heights. It wasn't important to the analysis, or in linking Halberstam to the murders, but that school of sharks had a feeding frenzy over my error. They grilled me on that point again and again, then sent Halberstam up to the top of a bell tower to wave at the jury."

Scully nodded sympathetically.

He gulped, then hung his head. "That was it, Scully. The State's Attorney gave the best closing argument I've ever heard, but that image was all the jury remembered." He began to tighten the fist, stopping when he realized she had not taken her hand from his, then spoke in a whisper. "I lost it. For two months, I was nearly catatonic, didn't eat, didn't sleep."

Scully looked up at his haunted eyes.

He sighed. "I knew then I had to get out of there, even though it was a few more cases before I worked myself free." He uncurled his fingers. "Sorry, are you okay?" He felt the blood, then cringed. "Oh. I didn't want you to see that."

She closed her hand around his palm again, relieved when he didn't retreat from her touch. "That's all right. I didn't know how much that work affected you, Mulder. I'm glad you told me."

He stared at their hands, thoughtful. "I think it's Halberstam. Phillips is too reclusive to be vengeful, but the method fits Halberstam's personality, like the other cases."

She nodded. "He probably pulled the animals out of the field with a helicopter to make it look like a UFO."

He met her eyes. "That would be like him, Scully. Expensive and elaborate. When we land, we'll find out where he lives now."

She fidgeted in the narrow seat. "We can explain this all to Fortner. It's his turf, and his call, but I think he'll agree Halberstam's his man."

He twisted his lips into a relieved grin, so she released her partner's hand. "Thanks, Scully." She lifted an eyebrow. "Thanks for listening. I've never been able to speak of that time to anyone." He lifted his palm to his mouth, sucking on the cuts.

"Mulder!" She dove into her bag, pulling out antiseptic and gauze.

He rolled his eyes, but waited, allowing himself the pleasure of being a little boy with a banged-up hand. "Sculleeee!" He smirked, then fussed as the ointment stung him.

-o-0-o-

Fordyce Sheriff's Office  
Wednesday, January 22, 1997  
1:12 am

Wallace Fortner jerked upright at the knock on the door. "Enter."

The shadow, elongated and unnatural, of a woman in a trenchcoat, appeared on the floor of his office, as the illumination from the streetlight across the road entered the front room. "Sheriff Fortner? We saw the light. Are you still here?"

The door swung inward, then the partners entered quietly. Mulder paused to close the door behind him, but they reached his desk together.

Fortner rose. "Agents, I'm glad you stopped by. I've been analyzing the voice on the tape, and I think I've figured this guy out. Listen." A man's voice filled the darkened space, rambling from one topic to another, but always circling back to the theme of revenge on foxes.

When he began reminding the listener of how Samson tied foxes together in pairs, with burning firebrands set in their tails, Scully punched the stop button. From the pinched expression on Mulder's face, she was certain her partner had heard far more of this abuse than he needed to.

"Is it Halberstam, Mulder?"

He nodded, looking over at the Sheriff.

Fortner was frowning. "He's from Tennessee originally, right?"

Mulder grunted, turning to explain to his puzzled partner. "The Sheriff has made a hobby of identifying regional accents."

She tipped her head at the older man. "You said 'originally.' But he's not there now?"

Fortner smiled at her. "Right. He's somewhere in the Tex-Arkana region, probably on the west side of the border. I can catch the slightest pure Texan twang in his speech. But, it's so late, we probably can't check him out with the FBI."

The agents exchanged a glance, Mulder grinning as he dug in his coat for his cell phone. "No, Sheriff, but there are always unofficial channels."

Fortner sat down, listening to the autodial.

Mulder paced in the corridor of filing cabinets, suddenly feeling very much at home.

A groggy Byers answered. "Office of the Lone Gunmen."

"Hey, Byers, it's your favorite government employee again."

A sigh. "Mulder, do you never sleep?"

The tall agent smirked. "Good to talk to you, too."

Another sigh. "Okay, what is it? Is Agent Scully all right?"

"She's fine, standing right here. Since you're up, we need the latest you have on a Steven Halberstam. He was one of my cases when I was back at Behavioral Sciences, one I lost. We think he's been terrorizing the good folk of Fordyce to lay a trap for yours truly."

"Ah, one from the BDS years."

Mulder snorted. "Yeah, the Dark Ages." He sent his partner a quick grin of gratitude, lifting an eyebrow as Frohike started speaking in the background. "The FAX number? Hang on." He looked over at Fortner, who was scribbling on a piece of paper. Scully carried it over to him. "Here goes: (501) 369-3262. Okay, you'll call back when you have something? He's living in Texas now, the Tex-Arkana area. If you need suggestions, start with the criminal records in Tennessee, then try any exotic animal sales, especially large canines. Great." A pause. "Thanks, guys."

Fortner had clapped his hat on his head before Mulder terminated the call. "Why don't you folks head back to the Inn? I have to make my rounds now."

Before she spoke, Scully glanced quickly at her partner, who was frowning. "No, Sheriff, we'll be here when you return. The sooner we can move on this guy the better. We'll need to coordinate with your counterparts in Texas when the information comes through."

Fortner shrugged. "It's up to you, but those old chairs aren't very comfortable. See you in a couple of hours."

-o-0-o-

Sheriff's Office  
Wednesday, 4:03 am

Holding his ring of keys to keep them from jangling, Fortner re-entered his office through the front door, feeling better than he had in weeks. He believed the partners had found his attacker, just as their superior had said they would. The light on the FAX machine was blinking, so he checked through his office for the FBI agents.

As he suspected, they had foregone the chairs for the sagging wooden floor. Mulder was stretched out on his back, suit jacket draped over his chest with his tie hanging out of one pocket. The crown of his head was aimed towards the green board, his face turned to his left, looking into the front room toward his partner. Scully was lying on her left side at right angles to him, her long coat loose over her, her bare feet pointing at the door between the rooms. Her left arm hugged her partner's trench coat, balled into a pillow. Her right hand rested against his upper left arm.

Fortner smiled to himself. Their relationship was just what he had deduced the first night of the case, closer than many lovers, bonded by the difficulties life could bring two troubled people. He approached them carefully, kneeling by the tall man's head.

When Fortner touched Mulder's shoulder, the agent opened his eyes. "Is it here yet?"

The Sheriff nodded, standing to head back to catch the pages as they fell from the machine. He heard a soft sliding sound, then a grunt as Mulder sat up. It had Fortner glancing back over his shoulder just as the agent reached out to touch his partner's back.

Mulder called softly the woman beside him. "Hey."

Scully pushed herself off the floor, inhaling deeply while waking. "How's the rib?"

He grimaced, bending carefully. "I'll live, Doctor Scully. It's here. The guys came through."

As Fortner was catching the sheets, he watched Scully help Mulder to his feet. Then the information on the papers caught his eye, confirming that Steven Halberstam was indeed their man. "Agents, I don't know who your sources are, but this is all we need." He flipped to the third page. "See this?" He pointed to copies of receipts, one from 'Arctic Animals Unlimited,' and one from 'Whirlybird Transportation.'

The partners nodded.

Scully looked up at Mulder. "A timber wolf. They're huge, and would leave the larger set of teeth marks. Many are pitch black, so eyewitnesses wouldn't necessarily spot them in forested areas at dusk."

Mulder took the sheets from Fortner. "Yeah, this is his MO. He had an employee purchase the wolf for him. The helicopter was bought through a holding company. If the guys hadn't known where to look, it would have taken forever to put all this together." He grinned over at the Sheriff. "He lives outside of Maud, Texas, Sheriff. Good ear."

Fortner shrugged. "This is what I need for a warrant. I'll call the local police chief there, and he can get the paperwork together. You two want to be there when we make the bust, I presume?" Nodding heads. "We can't really move on this for another three hours, so get washed up and comfortable, all right?"

Wrinkling her nose, Scully lifted an eyebrow at Mulder. "We'll definitely work on the washed up. My partner has a strange definition of manly charm."

His hand on his chest, the tall agent feigned offense.

As Fortner preceded them to the door, he heard the quips begin to fly, then shook his head.

The three exited.

He locked the door while they walked to their car, still teasing. The Sheriff sat in the elevated cab of his four-wheel drive, watching the tall man hold the car door for his partner, then walk around the back of the Taurus, grinning and sending a distracted wave in his direction.

-o-0-o-

End - Rustic Suite - Saraband


	5. Gigue

=====o================================================o=====

_Rustic Suite_ by Mary Ruth Keller

_Gigue_ (presto)

=====o================================================o=====

Circle H Ranch  
outside Maud, Texas  
Wednesday, January 22, 1997  
9:23 am

The timber wolf was trotting around the periphery of his chicken-wire domain, his eyes flicking from the drowsing coyotes to the dirt path leading up from the main road. Proudly, Steven Halberstam watched his Leader, knowing that somehow the animal sensed their approaching prey. It surprised him that the phone call from the local judge _Money well spent_ had come a day after the tape's mailing, but he was ready. Thanks to the free distribution of more green paper, he knew the local constabulary would refuse to accompany the agents. He had waited for this morning for almost six years. The Fox was coming so he could have his revenge.

The black canine stopped, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Halberstam stared as well, but even from his vantage point at the top of the hill, above the enclosure, he could see nothing at first, then a cloud of dust, finally, five police vehicles coming up the road in a line. _So, Reynard has not come alone to meet his fate._ They were accompanied, apparently, by the Sheriff from Arkansas and his deputies. He lifted his hand radio from his pocket, then he heard three engines turn over behind the barn. His subordinates fanned out, stationing themselves at the entrance to the Ranch.

-o-0-o-

Mulder tapped the front windshield. "Looks like a welcoming committee, Sheriff."

Scully's green-blue eyes narrowed. "More firepower than we have."

One man was passing semiautomatic rifles to the others so Fortner radioed the following cars to a halt.

Mulder leaned over, quipping to break the tension. "I think I know how Mister Halberstam feels about the Second Amendment, Scully, and this is Lexington and Concord."

The three descended from the cab, Mulder and Scully in their jeans, boots, and FBI raid jackets.

Fortner approached the armed entrance, nodding as the ranch foreman stepped out to greet him.

"Morning, Sheriff."

Fortner read the name patch sewn on the man's coveralls. "Morning, Vincent. We're not here looking for trouble, just to serve Justice."

The tall man, his skin leathery and brown, took off his broad brimmed felt hat to scratch his grey hair. "Well, Sir, that's where my boss and you have a little disagreement. He'd like me to ask you and your deputies to remain here, while the two FBI agents go up to the cages."

Mulder touched his partner's arm. They stepped behind Fortner's truck where he bent over her, his eyes intense. "Scully, I want you to stay here. Halberstam wants me, not you."

Shaking her head, she crossed her arms. "No, Mulder, you heard the man. Halberstam wants both of us, not just you. We already know he's not all there, mentally, so if you go alone, he may order his men to shoot, just to get his way." He spun around, running his hand through his hair, but she continued. "We can talk our way out of this, if we appeal to his ego; I've read your profile Byers FAXed us."

He looked down at her. "Yeah, Scully, maybe. But, I still don't like it." He sighed. "Let's go." They walked back to where the Sheriff waited. "We'll go in together, you get in the truck, and tell your men to back up some. No one else needs to suffer for his ego trip."

Fortner looked from one to the other. "All right, but I can have the Rangers here in a few minutes, if you want."

Scully touched her partner's wrist. "That might not be a bad idea, Mulder. They're waiting just out of sight until we ask for them." She pointed in the general direction of Halberstam's armed subordinates. "If we can show overwhelming numbers, this situation might be diffused without injuries." Now she gripped his elbow firmly. "Given Halberstam's past, the Rangers have been tracking him since he entered the state. They already suspect him of bribery and public corruption here in Maud. We wouldn't have this warrant if they hadn't issued it, since Judge Lamb threw us out of his office."

The partners faced off, he staring fixedly down, she glaring up. Finally, Mulder shook his head, Scully dropped her hand and her gaze, then the pair started up the hill.

-o-0-o-

Halberstam watched the agents approach. "Well, Leader, it's almost show time." He grinned at his joke.

"Yes, Steven, it is."

Starting at the voice, he checked the two faces approaching from the main road. _The Fox and the Vixen were still too far away!_ He looked down.

A pair of red eyes met his brown ones. "Did you really think those bars would hold me if I didn't want them to?"

Halberstam looked over his shoulder at the cage. The magnetic latch on the gate was still firmly engaged, the coyotes waking within. But the great dark beast sat at his feet, gazing up at him unblinkingly.

"You're speaking in *his* voice!" Halberstam pointed at the tall agent.

"Am I?" The wolf stood and shook himself. "It doesn't really matter, I suppose. Should I use yours?" The timbre switched, then Steven Halberstam heard himself speaking from the demon's mind. "Better? Good. I'd like to thank you for bringing those two right to me. They've been a nuisance for quite some time. But really, it's you who should thank me, you know. I can also help you with *your* problem. You want to remove the black stain of your almost conviction from your soul, which is something I have a good deal of experience with." The beast sat again. "But, you've let your revenge fester so long, I'm afraid it's taken over almost all of it. No matter. Surgery is surgery." The wolf sprang.

Halberstam collapsed in the tall grass as four wide paws struck him full in the chest. "No!" The man looked up at the animal on his stomach. For a moment, his eyes came unfocused until he thought he saw three huge heads on the body in front of him. But there was only one, a bright single pink tongue wiping the wolf's lips from side to side. As Halberstam watched in horror, the demon's head disappeared inside of him. When it emerged, it was holding a black stone in its teeth. The animal shook the smooth cobble, its dark covering fell away, turning the rock white before his eyes. He heard his own voice in his mind again.

_Ah, well, you won't be needing it much longer, anyway._ The wolf began trotting away, his head held high.

-o-0-o-

"Scully! Did you see that! The timber wolf went right through the wire fence like it wasn't there!"

The agents were running now, weapons out. They passed the cage full of coyotes, all on their feet and pacing eagerly.

Scully, closer to the great beast, fired at it. The first bullet missed, but the second found its target, the animal tumbling down the hill to lie in a heap at the bottom. The partners ran to Halberstam, who was jerking uncontrollably.

"He's having convulsions, Mulder!" Kneeling, Scully reached out to hold his flailing limbs. "Go get help!"

Mulder dipped his head once, turning to descend again.

Halberstam's spasms stopped suddenly, changing to gasps when he looked up at the face hovering over him, the sun having set Scully's red halo of hair aflame. "Who are you?" His eyes were wide and dilated, but he was conscious.

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, with the FBI. You've suffered an ictus, Sir. Lie still and Agent Mulder will call for an ambulance."

The man was instantly focused. _Vengeance is *mine*!_ "Mulder is still here?" He shook her arms off, swiveling as he sat up in an effort to spot his target. The tall agent had stopped partway down the hill, waiting by the wire enclosure when he heard the man speak. "Good."

Scully, assuming he was still in the throes of his seizure, attempted to calm him, but Halberstam reached in his shirt pocket for a small black control unit.

When he pressed a button, the cage gate swung open. "Kill!" He was shouting toward the animals. The coyotes had been trained to obey this command exactly, so the pack sprang at Mulder.

Scully began running towards them as her partner fell under the snarling teeth. "Mulder!"

-o-0-o-

The men at the bottom of the hill all turned when they heard the shots.

Now leaderless, the ranch employees hurried away from the growling and snapping, aware as they were of what their superior had trained the animals to do.

The siege over, Fortner barked orders over the car radio, calling first to the waiting Rangers, then to his deputies, who exited their vehicles, rifles ready. The Sheriff had seen the pack descend on the tall agent, but he knew that if either his or Halberstam's men fired, they were likely to hit both Scully and the man he had come to arrest. "Hold your fire!"

Hearing him, the deputies lowered their collective weapons.

Halberstam's subordinates kept on running, only having orders to keep the rest of the law enforcement agents away until their boss was finished.

Fortner knew Mulder's life was in his partner's hands. He nodded as he saw the red-haired woman heading towards the cage. _That woman is a warrior, not just a gem._

-o-0-o-

"Mulder!" Scully shouted again, her SIG out, aiming at the closest canine.

"Not my beauties!" Halberstam staggered towards her.

But Scully was firing relentlessly. She knew where Mulder was, so any animal not immediately on top of him was picked off. The clip empty, she began swinging the metal like a club, shouting in frustration as one of the coyotes sank its teeth in her swollen left wrist, another tearing at the flesh of her right forearm.

"Scully!" Mulder found his feet, throwing the last two coyotes off him as she approached. He had seen one of the animals slinking behind her. She dropped to her knees, covering her head at his warning. The canine sprang, biting her left arm repeatedly, but she shoved it off, yelling as the teeth found her hand. He grabbed her waist, guiding her back to the cage. There, they could keep the four-footed predators out while she changed clips.

"Mulder, he has controls for the magnetic lock!"

Once inside, he used their handcuffs to chain the gate shut. "It's okay, Scully, they won't do any good now."

-o-0-o-

Halberstam had collapsed again, so, once the agents were inside the enclosure, Fortner ordered his men to fire on the coyotes.

When the repeated rounds brought down the last of the animals, the Sheriff felt for them. _Such exquisite, adaptable creatures, used to exact revenge by one crazed man who had escaped justice, but not his own twisted nature._

-o-0-o-

The control unit lying useless beside him, Halberstam was on the ground, jerking and gasping.

Mulder heard the command to fire, so crouched lower. But Scully saw only a man in the grip of a heart attack, so she flung herself at the cuffs, while tugging her keys out of her jeans. Her partner reached out to grab her and pull her back down, but she shook him off. He stood, attempting to yank her down by her arms. As she grunted and was thrown back against him, he felt his shoulder burn; they fell to the ground together, Mulder covering his partner with his body.

Fortner had watched in horror as the red-haired agent attempted to escape the safety of the enclosure, so now his voice rose over the din. "Cease fire! Cease fire!"

The last of the canines was still, leaving Halberstam choking on his lost opportunity.

Mulder and Scully pushed themselves to their feet, unlocking the cuffs with shaking hands.

Since her arms were as battered as his own, he held her by the waist as they left the enclosure. "You're hit! Where?"

She looked herself over, but saw nothing, and shook her head. She tugged on the torn shoulder of his FBI jacket. "They're worse shots than I am."

The bullet had passed through his right shoulder, entering at the ball joint and skimming the shoulder blade itself, but had missed any major arteries or muscle groups.

He snorted, then grasped her arm. "That's why you didn't see it."

For her, the shot had traveled from her right wrist to her elbow, and she had mistaken the source of the blood when she first examined herself. They locked eyes.

"We got off lucky, Mulder. I need to check out Halberstam."

He released her as Fortner ran up to him. When the two men nodded, the Sheriff gestured for a pair of the deputies to carry their suspect downhill, while the others sought out and arrested those who remained.

"Mulder!"

He turned as she joined them.

"I'm riding with him to the hospital."

"So am I, Scully. He may talk and I want to be there."

Fortner signaled his assent, then the three descended the slope.

-o-0-o-

Maud Sheriff's Headquarters  
Wednesday, 3:17 pm

The door to the Sheriff's inner office flew off its hinges. The Texas State Police, weapons at the ready, a warrant from the State's Attorney's office sworn out, had knocked it down. Special Agents Mulder and Scully followed close behind, grimly determined to make this final arrest. Halberstam had given a full confession on the way to the hospital, so the agents decided to move on the corrupt judge and sheriff before either could destroy evidence of their involvement.

The agents and marshals, operating under a Texas State Police warrant, collected the Sheriff's files and notes, ferrying them out to a waiting police van as evidence. Fortner had attempted to persuade Mulder and Scully, prior to the bust, to wait for medical attention while letting his subordinates finish with the arrests. But, they outranked him once they crossed state lines, both were on an adrenaline high, so he knew they would stop when their bodies collapsed, not at his suggestions that they seek treatment. He had been dispatched to arrest the judge, whom he and his deputies apprehended in his chambers, while he frantically fed documents into a shredder.

The endorphin rush spent, Mulder and Scully were now feeling their injuries. He holstered his weapon, falling in one of the office chairs.

Scully's gun thunked on the desk top as she leaned against it in the demolished office, gasping and limp. "You'll need a tetanus shot, Mulder."

He regarded her quietly. "So will you. How many?"

Tearing the sleeves away, she held up her forearms so he could see the holes in her wrists, arms, and hands. "You?"

When he copied her actions, she counted nine bites in all.

"Shall we measure the spacings for more evidence, Agent Scully?"

Shaking her head, she found she lacked the strength to respond to his grim joke. "Later, Mulder. It's over. We can go home."

"Did you see it, Scully? What was that thing, anyway?"

Shrugging, she found her legs felt like rubber, that she was sinking to the floor. "It was a wolf, Mulder, a huge black timber wolf, nothing more. I checked the body on the way downhill."

He attempted to stand, but found his legs as weak and useless as hers. "There was something white in its mouth when you shot it, did you see it?"

She shook her head. "All that was there was the wolf, Mulder. Nothing white. I still don't understand how it got through the cage. The wire was intact enough to protect us when we were inside." She was shaking in her effort to keep some portion of her body upright.

Mulder realized they were both shocky and close to exhaustion. He forced himself to crawl to her. "This isn't over. There's something else, I know it." Even these simple motions were an effort, so his stomach recoiled. "Scully? I don't feel so good."

She nodded blankly.

-o-0-o-

Fortner pulled up to the Sheriff's Office, calling for the FBI agents. One of the marshals informed him they were still in the building, so he waited for them. _They wouldn't listen._ When they did not emerge, he jogged back to the dark chamber.

They were on the floor, their bodies lying in an eerie mirror of the postures he found them in early this morning. Scully was on her back, facing her partner to her right. Mulder was sprawled on his side, his left hand grasping her bloodied right arm.

The older man knelt by the tall agent, placing a restraining hand on Mulder's shoulder as he gritted his teeth, struggling to move closer to his partner. "You two just stay here. We'll have you both to a doctor soon."

-o-0-o-

Quad-State Hospital  
Maud, Texas  
Wednesday, 6:36 pm

Dana Scully could hear her partner complaining loudly in the next examining room. Mulder, with his unique sense of gallantry intact, had insisted the doctor look at Scully first.

The nurse, Sarah Rivers, smiled at her frown. "Men are always the worst, Agent Scully, you know that."

Scully shrugged, having suffered through enough of her partner's tantrums at doctors to regard them with something approaching indifference. "If he's fussing that badly, he'll be fine. I worry when he doesn't."

Sarah tore the needle free of its paper seal, then Scully dropped her trousers, wincing as the vaccine was injected in her thigh. As a precaution, they were undergoing the new compressed rabies treatment that would last for the next month or so, unless none of the coyotes was determined to have the virus.

After Scully dressed, the nurse touched her shoulder. "Would you like to lie down for a while? Agent Mulder has more bites than you, and the way he not cooperating, he'll be another half an hour or so." Scully shrugged, then settled on the examining bench. There was obviously something else the woman wanted to say, so she waited. Sarah packed the medical supplies away, clearing the counter, then turned to the tiny woman. "We'd all like to thank you and your partner for finally getting Halberstam."

Scully was sliding the torn jacket back over her bandaged wrist and arm. "Oh?"

Sarah helped Scully with the other sleeve. "He was a real terror in the town. He assumed he was above the law, so he'd beat up on people he didn't like, regardless of age. He ran down a school crossing guard, but he had the Sheriff and the Judge in his back pocket, so we couldn't do anything about it."

"That was his pattern back in Tennessee. Agent Mulder was the head analyst on his first trial, but Halberstam bought enough lawyers to get him off. If you have witnesses to the crossing guard's death, between the coyotes in Arkansas and that, you can put him away for good." Scully pushed herself off the paper-covered brown bench. "I'd better go rescue your boss from my partner."

Sarah smiled as she followed the pathologist into the next room.

-o-0-o-

"Mulder! Stop! If you don't let them take care of you, we'll never get out of here. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in Maud?" The nurses headed out of the room as soon as the tall man was distracted. Scully pointed her thumb over her shoulder. "See? You're the new terror of the town."

He held himself still. "What?" The medical personnel had succeeded in bandaging his shoulder and several scrapes on his chest from the coyotes, but both of his arms remained untreated.

Nodding, she hopped up on the bench beside him. "Halberstam was up to his old tricks, Mulder. He ran down a school guard." The new information kept him motionless.

The doctor rolled his eyes, quickly swabbing the holes in his right arm.

She sympathized. Even though Mulder sought her out when he wanted help, his paranoid nature drove him to resist assistance when tired or afraid. Scully stared at her swinging feet, raising both eyebrows to keep from smirking.

Mulder twisted to face his partner. "Jeez, Scully, maybe we really can nail this guy. Ow!"

She shrugged. "If he recovers. He had a major blockage in his cardioid artery. He's probably still in surgery right now, which is where you'll be if you don't keep quiet."

While the doctor bandaged his arm, Mulder looked his partner in the eye. "What about you?"

Scully held up her left wrist. "I guess you and Mom were right in Miami. I'll need to keep this wrapped for at least a week." She smirked when she saw the Doctor preparing the rabies shot. "I'll be outside, Mulder."

He looked over. "Hey, what is that..."

Scully rolled her eyes as she left the room.

"Ow! I'm not a horse!"

She leaned against the wall, watching the nurses laugh silently at his complaints. Sarah pulled her over to a chair. "He's absolutely gorgeous, Agent Scully, but he must drive you up a tree."

She lifted one corner of her mouth. "He drives me up whole forests, most of the time."

The nurses managed to contain themselves while Mulder limped from the office, rubbing his thigh as he grumbled about quacks and charlatans. They waved as he and Scully left.

But the auburn-haired agent checked over her shoulder while she waited in the car. The nurses had started hooting again, holding their sides, so she focused her attention on the Ford logo as they drove off.

-o-0-o-

Fortner's Family Inn  
Wednesday, January 22, 1997  
11:57 pm

Dana Scully shuffled in a circle, trying to stay awake and warm. Her partner, as worn from the day's events as herself, was leaning against the door of the bungalow as he struggled with the lock. She had attempted to autopsy the wolf once they left the hospital. Fortner, however, had firmly insisted Deputy Archer drive them back to the Inn to rest, since he could keep neither of them off their feet in Maud. The Texas State's Attorney bowed to the authority of the FBI by agreeing to let her finish the post mortem examination back in Fordyce the following day.

"Why is it all the rooms are full? Fordyce is in the middle of nowhere, Mulder."

He jiggled the tumblers with the key, until the door swung inward. "I can't say, Scully. We *are* on something of a main road, I guess." He held his arm out. "After you."

She staggered in, a bag over each shoulder.

He followed, locking the door behind them.

Dropping the luggage by the sofa, Scully sank into the cushions, hearing a grunt as Mulder joined her there.

He queried without lifting his head from the back of the couch. "Do you want the bathtub first?"

"No, I'll be fine here." She pushed him on his thigh. "You go. Then take the bed again. I'm too tired to fight you for it."

Growling under his breath, he rose.

Scully heard the scratching of wool against polyester. _Good, he needs it._ "Agent Mulder! What are you doing?" She lifted her head, both eyes wide. She was suspended in mid-air in her partner's arms, his eyes gleaming as she struggled.

"Not tonight, Doctor Scully." He kicked the couch as he walked away from it. "Neither of us needs to develop back spasms on that monstrosity. That bed may look hideous, but at least it's comfortable, so no arguing with the man in charge, hum?"

Scully felt the mattress shift as he placed her on it, then gentle tugging on her ankles as he unlaced her boots. _He's right, this does feel good._ She heard two solid thumps as the thick soles hit the floor, then opened her eyes when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"You sure about the bath?"

"Yes. Pass me a blanket, would you?"

His mouth twitched, but he was too tired to do more than smirk at the verbal opening. When he returned to the bed, he handed her one of the grey covers the proprietor had left on the couch.

As she expected, she was rocked from hip to hip as he sank into the other side of the mattress.

While he was unlacing his own boots, a thought struck her and she sat up.

"Hey, stay put!" He touched her arm. "I didn't carry you over here just to have you run away."

She rubbed her eye with the heel of her hand. "No, I was just thinking about changing before I fell completely asleep." She finished after she yawned. "But, that's too much trouble."

As she flopped down on her side, setting them both bobbing, he leaned over her. _I can't let two go by._ "I'd help?"

Focusing one eye on his smirk, Scully unclipped her holster from her belt, waving the sheathed weapon in his face before dropping it on the floor. "I have my gun, Mulder."

He pouted. "Spoilsport." Settling on his back, he looked over at her, still concerned. "You'll be warm enough?"

She was already asleep, so he pulled his own blanket over him before turning off the light.

-o-0-o-

Fox Mulder was walking down a dirt path, pine trees on either side of him. Ahead and to his left, the bright sunlight glinted off a helmet, pushed back on the head of a small man sitting on a rock. The warrior was resting, his spear leaned against a tree, his shield lying on the grass, but he had not removed his sword from his belt. Instead, it was angled against the ground.

The horsehair mane, dyed red, moved as the figure turned around. "Mulder, what are you doing here? This is my dream." His partner rose.

He took in her apparel. Over her peplos, she wore a leather cape, fringed with chains. As an owl hooted overhead, he focused on the aegis. Suspended in the center was a face, its wild hair writhing as he watched. While he noticed how much the image resembled a hologram, he also wondered why the eyes were blindfolded. _Oh, right._ "Scully! Do you always think of yourself as Pallas Athena?"

She looked down at herself. "I'd like to, Mulder. Although she was never real, I always wanted to be her when I was a girl." They locked eyes. "She did great things, you know. She invented almost everything useful, and she even beat Ares in a fair fight on the plains outside of Troy."

Mulder closed his eyes as he swallowed. "If you're Athena, then I'm..."

"Hermes."

They flew open in surprise. "Hermes? The one with the dorky shoes?" He looked down. Translucent pairs of wings sprouted from his ankles, unconsciously, he flapped them, gasping as his feet left the ground. "But at least they work."

Athena/Scully grabbed his arm. "Settle down, Delivery Boy, there must be some reason why I'm in your dream, and you're in mine."

He huffed. "Delivery Boy! I'll have you know, little-Miss-know-it- all, I am an Immortal Olympian and child of Zeus, just like your armored self!"

She eyed him thoughtfully. "My brother, yet not my brother."

He looked down at her. "My sister, yet not my sister. Is this what these dreams are all about? Our relationship with each other and how to make sense of ourselves?"

Scully/Pallas shrugged. "Who's to say, Mulder, or should I address the Divine One properly?"

He smirked, wagging the Caduceus under her nose. "I believe this belongs to you."

As she shook her head, the horsehair swished, so she had to grab the helmet with both hands to keep it from falling. "That was always yours, if you remember. The medical profession just borrowed it." She looked up at his forehead. "But nobody could ever figure out what to do with that cap."

He lifted the round-crowned short-brimmed hat, that resembled, more than anything else, a bowler, off his head, distaste spreading across his features. "Ugh. Oh, well. Immortality has its failings. No fashion sense."

Now it was her turn to smirk as her eyes traveled down his long form, enjoying the view the short chiton, fastened on one shoulder only, afforded. _Well, you know this isn't real, Dana. The original Hermes was a mature man with a long beard, and he can't grow one of those._ While grinning, she bent down to retrieve the shield and spear, swinging the long weapon clear of the tree branches. "I wouldn't say so. Great legs, Mulder."

He leaned towards her. "Ooh, you coming on to me? I thought Athena was one of the chaste ones."

"Mulder!" She shot him a Look. They both jumped when lightning leapt out of her eyes to ignite a nearby oak tree.

"Whoa, Scully! I always knew you could kill with that stare." He smirked. "Remember how you did that the next time we get stuck in the woods." Her jaw set, so he backed up, waving his hands. "Just kidding. I don't want another hole in my chest."

She tucked her arm through the shield straps, noting the holographic snake circling the inner rim. "Let's go for a walk, Fleetfoot. There's someone we have to meet."

He trotted alongside her. "Oh? Who?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. This is a dream, so something has to happen." She pointed the spear down the clearing. "Follow the beaten dirt path, Mulder."

Grinning, he leaned towards her. "Do we get to link arms and skip?"

His partner's only reply was to rest the iron tip on his throat.

He raised both hands. "Yeah, right."

-o-0-o-

They approached a wooden house, where they could see the bright orange light of a strong controlled blaze burning within. The one-room hut was empty except for a forge and a fireplace, with an opening on the left to the back. A shirtless man was bending over the forge, working a small blade to a fine point.

Mulder/Hermes stood in the opening, pushing the cap back out of his eyes. "Frohike?" Hermes/Mulder stepped to one side so Scully/Athena could enter, after she leaned the spear against the house.

The short man turned to the door, beaming when he saw the armor-clad figure. "Uoy rof efink wen a gnigrof neeb ev'I! Eno riaf!" He hobbled towards them, holding the weapon that now had a hilt, over his head.

Athena/Scully took it, turning it over in her hands. "Very nice."

Mulder/Hermes recognized the icy tone. "Scully, why is he talking backwards?"

Lifting one corner of her mouth, she held her helmet as she looked up at him. "I thought it was something from *your* past, Mulder." She watched him shrug in incomprehension. "Well, then, I'll guess he's Hephaestus."

The tall man poked the helmet until it settled down on her head. "Bless you, Pallas. I didn't think we had to worry about colds as Immortals."

Frustrated, she began hopping, waving the knife. "No, no, He-PHAES-tus, He-PHAES-tus!" Her voice echoed in the tight space.

"I bless you, I bless you." Hermes/Mulder smirked at *her* incomprehension.

Frohike/Hephaestus looked from one to the other, finally turning to Scully/Athena. "Nacluv dnatsrednu dluow eh kniht uoy od?"

She turned on the tall man, her eyes blazing.

He ducked, losing the cap, but just avoiding the twin beams. "Okay, Scully, okay. We'll have to work on that sense of humor. It must not have been something you invented." He leaned into her face. "I know who Hephaestus is, so calm down. The Greek myths were my favorite stories as a kid." He raised his eyes. "But Hephaestus was married to Aphrodite, and who could that be but..."

"Hello, Mulder. Your divine equivalent was quite the lover, if we can believe these old tales."

They turned to the door behind Hephaestus/Frohike, where Phoebe/Aphrodite leaned sensuously against the back opening, one peplos brooch falling off her shoulder, down her arm. She was clad in the sheerest of wool.

The little man practically drooled. "Syug, emityna smaerd ruoy ot em etivni!"

Aphrodite/Phoebe sashayed across the room until she stood in front of Mulder/Hermes. As Phoebe/Aphrodite ran her index finger from his chin down his neck and chest, she whispered, "You know, in later sculptures of yourself, the Greeks liked to show you wearing nothing but those wonderful shoes."

Hermes's/Mulder's eyes began to bulge out as if he had been poked with a pin.

"I'll bet your little armored partner would just love to see that."

The goddesses/ women locked eyes.

Shoving the cap back on his head, Mulder/Hermes yelped, flying out the door before Aphrodite/Phoebe could grab him.

Scully's/Athena's jaw tightened, then the bolts struck the goddess of Love full in the chest, throwing her across the room.

While Frohike/Hephaestus knelt beside her, Pallas/Scully smirked. "I can only get away with that in a dream. Gotta go catch my partner before he hurts himself. Bye, bye Phoebe! I know you'll get all the loving care you deserve!" As she looked back over her shoulder, she saw the little man kissing Phoebe/Aphrodite on the cheek, promising eternal devotion while she squirmed. _Good, at least in my dreams, they're out of my hair._ "Mulder!" She wandered down the path. "Mulder, where are - Mulder!" She shoved her fists against her hips, the gesture clumsily executed given the shield and spear. "Why don't you watch where you're going?"

He had flown head-first into an laurel tree, where he was lying on the ground, rubbing his crown under the cap. "Where's Phoebe?"

She pursed her lips, narrowly missing his nose with the tip of the lance as she laid it down.

"Yowch, Scully, take it easy, okay?" He shot her one of his lost child looks.

She rolled her eyes, set the other weapons, including the helmet, on the ground, before kneeling beside him. Scully/Pallas lifted the cap off, checked his head, then stopped. "Why am I doing this? You shouldn't need any medical assistance, you're an god, remember?"

He squinted. "Yeah, right." Saddened, he looked up. "So I'll never need a kiss to make it better?" She began to frown, but he jumped to his feet, holding the cap over her face. "I'm fine, I'm - Ow, Scully, stop with the heat, okay?" He dropped the hat, shaking his arm.

She was standing, glaring still, while he focused on his headgear. It was upside down, wobbling from side to side as twin plumes of smoke rose from the interior.

"So there, Mulder, Wisdom and Reason aren't meant to be contained."

He picked up the hat, waving it back and forth before placing it carefully on his head. Cautiously, he repeated the question. "Where's Phoebe?"

As she picked up her weapons, positioning the helmet on her forehead, Athena/Scully beamed at him. "I gave her a Look, and her husband is tending her every need."

They walked off, Mulder/Hermes draping an arm around her shoulders. "Glad to have you on my side, Pallas." He stepped in front of her, walking backwards. "Well, where to next, Dorothy?"

Holding the helmet again, she looked up at him. "I don't know, Mulder, I think this was the easy part."

-o-0-o-

Suddenly, they were standing beside a dark, flat structure, a single opening yawning before them. The low building extended under the forest, so they could not tell how large it actually was.

"Looks like a black hole, Scully."

She nodded. "This is where we're supposed to be, I guess." They turned as the bushes rustled behind them.

An antlered roebuck shot out of the woods. _Help!_

As they exchanged a glance, the deer morphed into a man as it/he ran into the structure. "Help me!"

They heard growls and baying back in the woods.

Hermes/Mulder nodded, looking from the woods to the dark opening. "Our old buddy Herne?"

Scully/Athena lifted her eyebrows in affirmation, reaching into the wide belt at her waist. "I know where we are, Mulder." She pointed at the structure with her spear. "We're on Crete, and this is Minos's-" They spoke together. "-labyrinth." She handed him the newly finished knife.

He accepted it, frowning. "Okay, Goddess of Wisdom, how do I get out if I go in?"

She held up a clear plastic box, backed with metal, breaking off the black tab on one edge. "Use this." Athena/Scully hooked one finger under the brown ribbon of tape, tying one end off to a nearby bush.

"Scully! Where did you get the MJ tape?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, Mulder, but this *is* a dream. Here."

He took the cassette from her, saluting before he disappeared into the darkness. "Watch my back?"

She lifted one corner of her mouth. "Always." She heard his footfalls die away. Soon he had wound around so many turns the tape stopped jerking on the branches of the plant. Scully/Athena turned to face the baying, which was drawing closer.

-o-0-o-

Mulder/Hermes cursed under his breath as he ran into another wall. "Ow!" He stopped to rub his nose, then bent down to fumble in the darkness for the cassette he had dropped. _There. If I can just hang onto it, I'll be okay._

He continued walking, listening to the plastic gears rattling, wondering what he would do when the thin strip reached the end of the reel. _Wouldn't you know it, the one time I can run as fast and as long as I want, I'm reduced to stumbling around in the dark._

"Ow!" Another wall. More groping, but all he felt under his fingers was crumbling earth, not a smooth plastic rectangle. _Great. She'll hit me with those laser beam eyes of hers when she finds out._ When he heard a man's voice cry out for help not too far ahead of him, he looked up. There was a faint light ahead, but in the total darkness, it shown like a beacon. Hermes/Mulder began running, but found he was flying, truly flying, towards it. _Try not to hit anything, this time._

When he reached the source of the light, he gasped. The scene before his eyes was a replay of this morning's confrontation. There was a man, Herne, he presumed, lying on the alabaster floor of the maze's central circle. Sitting on the man's chest was a black timber wolf, only when the animal looked over, he could see an evil intelligence behind the gleaming eyes.

In his mind, he heard another call for help, looked the supine figure in the face, finding it familiar. He recognized it - himself. Mulder/Hermes and Herne/Mulder locked eyes, then merged. As he stared up in horror at the glistening teeth, he called for the only person he trusted, hoping that in this realm of dreams, she would respond.

-o-0-o-

When Athena/Scully heard her partner's cry, the baying stopped. _Whatever it was, it was only supposed to separate us!_ Running to a nearby olive tree, she hacked off a branch with her sword. _Well, Mulder, you were right about one thing._ She glared at the cut end, still dripping with sap, until it ignited.

Scully/Athena hung the sword back in its loop at her waist then slipped the shield over to her left arm, before she walked into the Labyrinth, holding the torch aloft to follow the brown tape. _No spear, Dana, it won't bend around these turns. Oh, and the helmet._ With one tap, the metal sheath fell over her face. She was surprised at the visibility the eye-slits afforded, then realized she was beginning to enjoy the swish of the horsehair behind her.

-o-0-o-

Athena/Scully wiggled the tape. _It's too loose._ She could still hear him calling for her, so she quickened her pace. _Why are the walls red? Of cloth?_ The flickering light reflected off a plastic rectangle. _Oh, Mulder!_ But the shouting was louder still, so she broke into a full run.

Ahead, she saw her partner, but he was only the man, not the god. Sitting on his stomach was the same black wolf they had encountered today.

"Mulder!" She met his frightened gaze as he blocked the wolf's fangs from his throat with his arms.

Frohike's knife lay broken on the stones beside him. "Scully, help me!"

Scully/Athena glared at the canine, who laughed as the lightening reflected off his coat, striking Mulder's arm before entering the ground.

Mulder shuddered. "Ow, don't do that!"

She realized the animal was part of him, the paws hidden because the wolf's legs extended into her partner's chest and abdomen. "Mulder! He's the Beast in your soul!"

The wolf growled, but it was speech. "Indeed, Agent Scully, so I am."

The partners locked eyes. They had heard that voice last in Mulder's apartment, never expecting to hear it again, after reading the police report of the Smoking Man's death.

Scully confronted the monster for them both. "It's *you*! But you're dead!"

The animal curled his lips, running his long pink tongue over his teeth. "Am I? Perhaps, but then again, perhaps not." The wolf stepped out of Mulder. "It really doesn't matter, now that you are both here."

Athena/Scully ran to Mulder's side, swinging the burning branch to cover her. "Are you okay?"

Her partner was sitting, patting his chest. "I think so, Scully." He looked up at her. "Glad you could make it."

The wolf howled in the corner. "Are you ready for the Truth?"

They looked over, then Scully/Pallas rose, taking a step towards the demon. "And whose Truth might that be?"

Mulder stood behind her.

The animal with the eyes and voice of a devil laughed, prancing back and forth in front of them. "The ones about yourselves. It's time each of you knew what you really think of yourselves, and the other knew too. These god-personae are only the outer shell, the protective coating you use to survive from day to day." One red eye fixed on Pallas/Scully. "Mister Mulder dropped his oh so easily, but you, Dana Katherine Scully, you are a little tough nut to crack."

In an absurd gesture possible only in dreams, it rose up on its hind legs to clap its two front paws together. They heard children laughing, then a boy's voice.

"Stay there, Dana, you're too little to chase me yet." A six year old Bill Scully ran into the room with his two year old sister, her over-sized head covered in auburn curls, close behind.

"Wait for me! Wait for me!" The toddler tripped and fell.

As Mulder began to cross the room to the child, she pushed herself back to her feet, gulped twice, then ran after her brother, bloody knees and all. He looked down at his partner, who had turned her back on the sight. After dropping the torch, still burning, at her feet, she had pulled the helmet off to wrap her arms around it. She was gasping and gulping just like her two year old self.

"Scully?"

As he touched her shoulder, she shook her head. "I never want to remember that, ever. Why did he bring it up? Bill was always running away from me." Her eyes glistening, she looked up at him. "Why? Mulder, tell me why?" Deeply saddened, he shrugged. "You never ran away from Sam, did you?"

He hung his head. "Sometimes I wanted to, Scully, sometimes I wanted never to have to worry about her, to be free to go wherever I wanted to, whenever I wanted." His voice cracked. "But she was so little, and we didn't have anybody but each other. There were times I wanted her to leave me alone, and I'd hide in the closet, until she would start to weep." He met her gaze. "I could never stand to hear her cry."

The wolf had crept towards them during the discussion, so now he spoke from between them. "Good, Fox, I'm proud of you. Share your troubles with both of us before you die. Now if I could only force your partner to do the same. Let's see if hurting you will soften her up, as it did you." He smacked his lips. "I love that name, Fox, even though you can't bear to hear anyone say it except Samantha. Fox! Fox!"

The words were spoken in the girl's voice he would never forget. Scully touched his elbow as he started to gasp in horror.

"No, not that, anything but that."

The wolf howled again. "Very well, then, as you wish." Sitting, the beast clapped his paws. A twelve year old Mulder wandered in from a corridor, wearing the same bereft and alone expression Scully had seen so many times on her partner's face. "Remember, Fox, the coyotes love to kill little foxes. They take the coyotes' food, so the coyotes kill the kits." Mulder backed away from the wolf, but the beast released an impossible loud shout. "Remember!"

The younger Mulder began calling out, the tone of loss all too familiar. "Mom, Dad, where are you? Where's Sam? Mom? Dad? Where is everyone?"

As her partner sank to his knees, Scully/Pallas bent over to grasp his shoulder. "Mulder, what are we seeing here?"

He refused to lift his head to meet her gaze, shaking with grief as he reminisced. "I must have passed out when Sam was taken, Scully. I remember waking up later, dazed, wandering through the house, but no one else was there." He had crossed his arms over his stomach, but he gritted his teeth to stare at their tormenter. _Don't let go, Scully._ "Why are you showing us this? Why?"

The wolf growled. "You two want to improve your partnership, don't you? You want to learn about each other, to 'share your experiences'? Well, there you are. Work it out for yourselves." He began to leave.

But Pallas/ Scully had donned the helmet and blocked his path, holding the torch under his nose. "No! I'm not that little girl! I'm a doctor, a Special Agent with the FBI! I have a job with responsibilities to others!"

The animal flanked her, his hackles up. "So, you will not yield? Well, there is worse." The beast grew in size until it was as tall as she, bringing its red eyes level with hers. "Try this."

Mulder and Scully/Pallas saw Dana Scully's body, supine on an operating table, her stomach swollen and distended, tubes coming out of her arms, legs, neck, and abdomen.

She heard herself screaming in agony. "No!" Pallas/Scully dropped the torch, pulled out her sword, then hacked at the wolf, but the blade passed through it, over and over.

It laughed again. "Face the Truth, Scully! It's your worst fear, to be helpless, in pain, and out of control!"

Mulder dove between them, grabbing the torch to swing it through the animal.

But the beast was unharmed.

Enraged and shouting, the tall man climbed to his feet. "No! Don't do this to her! It's my fault, all of it! Let her go!" Scully/Pallas glared at the animal, but the bolts bounced back into her partner, who dropped to the floor. "Scully, don't do that!"

"I have to do something, Mulder!"

The wolf danced back and forth through her swinging blade. "You can't call on the power of your father here, Agent Scully. The Thunderer's domain is above, not below. We are in the earth, the province of the dark powers, the hidden things all fear in the night. Your soul will be mine, just as your partner's is!"

Mulder pushed himself to his feet, still staggered. "He's right, Scully, stop." He reached up to hold her arms. "We can't fight back. It's over."

Pallas/Scully wrenched free, stamping her feet. "We can't give up, Mulder, we can't! If we give up, he's won!"

As the wolf circled them, Mulder held her by her shoulders. "Scully, it's only a dream. We'll wake up, sit on that awful sofa, and talk about it."

They heard a growl from behind her. Both turned. The black beast held a struggling kit fox in its teeth. It shook the little animal. Scully/Athena heard whimpers from both the tiny body and her partner, who had fallen to his knees, clutching his chest. They could hear the wolf's thoughts in their heads.

_But you believe, Fox, and your soul is mine._

He desperately looked to his partner.

Scully threw up her hands. "Mulder, what can I do?"

The wolf tossed the kit to the man, who caught it, cradling it in his arms.

The beast continued circling her as the trappings of the goddess began to fade. "Lost without your Father, are you?" The helmet disappeared. "Lost without your Thunderer's gifts?" The sword vanished. "Lost without your reason?"

She began backing away. _I can't use my father's powers. Then what?_ She heard her partner cry out in pain, then call to her in desperation.

"Make a leap of faith, Scully!"

"But it's only a dream!"

He groaned. "Believe, Scully!"

She shook the shield, still solid in her hands, then she saw the snake, writhing around the rim. _If not the Father, then the Mother._ Scully rolled the shield to her partner, who huddled beneath it with his little animal. She taunted the horror. "If you want me, here I am, defenseless!"

It howled. "Foolish woman, do you know what you're asking?"

She shifted to her right, keeping herself between Mulder and the white fangs. "I know, believe me, I know."

She rushed the black beast as it crouched, preparing to spring. Athena/Scully danced on her toes, mocking the red eyes and snarling lips. _Wait, Dana, wait._

As the growling demon flew through the air, she reached up to her aegis, grasped the blindfold, then pulled it away from the Medusa's eyes.

The wolf, his red orbs fixed on Scully's/Athena's throat, could not avoid the Gorgon's dead stare, could not turn away, but landed directly on her, knocking the red-haired woman down. Toppling over backwards, she grunted as they hit the alabaster slabs together. She expected growls and slashing teeth, but the wolf was still, heavier than she thought.

She heard her partner call to her in a voice free of suffering, but full of concern, so she shouted to warn him. "Don't look, Mulder!" She struggled to cover the eyes of Medusa with her hand as he lifted the weight off her. Once the animal was removed, she pulled the aegis over her head, turning it inside out before flinging it away.

Mulder lifted her to her feet to steady her before they looked down. The great beast had turned to stone, just as they had both believed it would. When he kicked it, it crumpled into a pile of dust. "We're free, Scully, you did it!"

She touched his arm. "No, Mulder, *we* did it." She looked around the alabaster circle. "Where's the little fox?"

He patted his chest. "Where he's supposed to be. Let's go. The sooner we're out of here, the happier I am."

She sniffed. "Hum. I haven't smelled the torch burning before."

-o-0-o-

Fortner's Family Inn  
Thursday, January 23, 1997  
3:17 am

Mulder and Scully awoke together, pulling themselves upright, gasping for breath.

She looked over at him, suddenly aware of where the burning smell came from. "Mulder, your arm! You must have rested it on one of the heating elements for the waterbed."

She slid off the mattress; he followed her to the bathroom. Scully reached for his wrist, ripping the sleeve and bandages away with a quick jerk. He winced as ice-cold water hit the burn, but nodded as she instructed him to keep it still while she went for salve and bandages.

They were both stunned into silence by the images they had just experienced. Mulder retreated into himself to numbly follow her instructions; Scully fretted over him reflexively.

"Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry. I should have used the sofa. I'm sure you had your arm hanging off the bed to give me some room."

Equally instinctively, he began reassuring her. "It's okay, Scully." _You're here and I'll be fine._ "By the time you're done with me, I'll be as well wrapped as your Mom and I had you in Miami."

Finished with her work, she began packing her supplies away.

_Don't worry, Scully._ Smirking, he confided to her, "If it makes you feel better, you can hold me on your lap for a while?"

Scully shot him a Look.

He started to duck, then chuckled. "So it was all a dream. Otherwise, I'd be fried to a crispy crunch right now."

She lifted one corner of her mouth at his joke. "Mulder, I don't know if you dreamt what I did, but ..."

He took her arm, guiding her back to the sofa. Once in the room, he retrieved the blankets and a pair of pillows from the bed. "Let's find out, shall we?"

As they settled down, huddling under the wool covers, they faced each other from opposite corners of the couch. Each was crouching in identical postures, swathed arms resting on their knees.

He leaned towards her. "We'll tell each other what happened in the dream, only I'll tell you what you did, and you tell me what I did."

"Okay."

They organized the images in their minds.

"Ready?"

"You were walking down a path, lined with pine trees. Hermes was a god of forested spaces, you know."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Edith Hamilton, I *know*. No commentary, okay?"

Smirking at her frown, he rubbed the bandage. "You were sitting on a rock, facing away from me, your armor all around you. You turned and asked me what I was doing in your dream."

"You looked at the blindfolded Medusa in the center of the aegis and asked me did I always think of myself as Pallas Athena." She poked the scratching fingers. "Leave it alone, Mulder, it's a second degree-plus burn on top of all those bites."

"Okay, *Doctor*." He moved the hand away. "You said she was never real-" He interrupted his words with a whooshing sound, while wiping imaginary sweat off his forehead. "-and told me some of her exploits, that she liked to beat up Ares, etc."

Scully stuck her tongue out at him.

But then, thought for thought, image for image, they scrolled through their mental experience, until they were together in the center of the labyrinth, smelling the burning torch.

Scully eyed her partner. "What does it all mean?"

He shrugged. "That we have some type of psychic bond? After all, you cut the monk who was supposed to be me exactly where I did at Oxford." He leered at her. "Or maybe you really *are* Phoebe under all that red hair, and you *remember*." He ducked as she swung her pillow at him.

"Mulder! You may have already told me that story on a stakeout or something. Besides, if it were true, then you could tell me what I'm thinking now." She narrowed her eyes.

He slid across the couch to lean into her face. "Ooh, Scully, you really *liked* me in that chiton, didn't you? I think the Phoebe idea is sounding better and better."

She pursed her lips. "No, Mulder, I was thinking it's too bad Sal's is closed, because I'm hungry."

He grinned broadly. "But hungry for what, Doctor Scully?"

"Just a turkey sandwich, not your manly charms, partner."

He hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. "I don't see how I can stand all this abuse."

She leaned towards him. "You know you love it."

Sulkily, he returned to his corner. "Ha, Ha. What's *your* theory, Scully?"

She shrugged. "Unfortunately, it isn't testable, like yours. I think we've been through so much together we're beginning to think alike. We're both educated people, both love the Greek myths, and both chose to take refuge in them in our sleep. We've been sharing our dreams with each other for the better part of a week, so tonight we were both thinking similar thoughts, and expecting meaningful dreams. That's all."

He sighed. "I suppose. I'm just glad we don't have to include these in our report to Skinner. He'll be happy enough we caught an actual criminal he won't ask questions about this." He waved his hand at their surroundings.

Scully rubbed her eyes. "I guess we should try to sleep a little longer. There's no way we can go interview Halberstam's people about the wolf and the coyotes at this time of morning, and Halberstam himself will be in ICU for several more days to come."

Mulder nodded. "I think we have most of what we need for our report already, but I thought you said you wanted to finish the autopsy on the wolf's body?"

"I still can't figure out about the tongues, Mulder. I know Halberstam said he had trained the wolf to bite them off, but the smoothness of the surface bothers me. If the animal had extra strong saliva, I suppose that would explain it, but that's the one unknown for me. Still."

He ran his hand through his hair, rubbing his neck, wondering whether to press the discussion further, then decided against it. "Yeah." He pointed towards the bed. "Go. I took it the last night we were here. It's your turn."

She shook her head. "I'll sleep here, thank you." She waved behind her. "Over there, I have no idea what I'll dream, or what I'll have to fight. It's all yours."

"Well, I'm not sleeping there again, Scully. So, good night." He turned off the table lamp behind him.

His partner, however, was standing, walking stiffly to her bag. "I think I *will* change. These jeans are beginning to itch." When she returned from the bathroom, his head had dropped onto the back of the sofa, so she knew the rest of the night would pass in meaningless, but restful slumber. After she settled in, she reached behind her to turn off her light, but he had shifted, so she looked over at him.

He had pried open one eye to watch her. "Good night, Pallas Athena."

She lifted one corner of her mouth. "Good night, Hermes. Great hat."

He chuckled. "Right. Good in at least two religions."

"By the way, partner, had it been without the tail, that little fox kit would remind me of someone." Her eyes twinkled at his growl.

"Don't say it."

"I don't have to. 'Night, Mulder." She turned off the light, but knowing he was plotting, waited for his next demand.

He grinned to himself. _In your face, Scully._ "With those telepathic powers you keep claiming you don't have, tell me what I want *now*, Scully." He waggled his eyebrows.

She groaned. _That again._ "Oh, okay. Perhaps this will guide you into Hypnos's care:

There once was a agent named Fox,  
who had never been taught to read clocks.  
His partner was tired,  
but Fox, he was wired,  
and since he had never been trained,  
he had to talk on until drained,  
or 'til he could run and be free.

He talked and he talked,  
'til the moon it had walked  
down the dark sky to sleep in the sea.  
But rest, 'No! No!' said he.  
'I'll keep up my partner,  
and theorize to her,  
because she must put up with me!'

His partner was clever,  
and knew never ever,  
could Fox stand to listen to Dana  
sit down and work only with data.  
So on she did babble  
and wander and ramble  
'Til sleep like an angel did he!"

She leaned toward him. "I'm sorry, but Mulder didn't scan."

"I noticed that, and for your punishment, I'll recite _Jabbawocky_ backwards."

She shuddered because she knew he could. "Good *night*, Mulder!"

He chuckled. _Good enough for now, G-man._

-o-0-o-

End - Rustic Suite - Gigue


	6. Coda

=====o================================================o=====

_Rustic Suite_ by Mary Ruth Keller

_Coda_

=====o================================================o=====

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Friday, January 24, 1997  
2:36 am

As the phone buzzed from the nightstand, Dana Scully groaned in her sleep. _I can't face any more specters and Olympians, Mulder. I hope this is important._ After she finished up the autopsy on the wolf's body, they had spent most of the day wrapping up the paperwork in Fordyce. Various annoying, but minor, delays forced them to catch the last flight from Little Rock to National Thursday night. Groggily, she unclipped the hand unit to hold it to her face. "Scully." She heard a sniffle. _Oh, Mulder!_

"Scully, you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mulder. What's wrong?"

"Uh, nothing. As long as you're okay, then I'm fine. Sorry, go back to sleep."

Scully slid against the pillows until she was upright. _Right, partner. If you're fine, then I really *am* buying that warrior princess outfit._ "No, I'm awake. Should I put on a pot of decaf so we can talk?"

A long pause, then a softer sniffle. "Yeah. Thanks." Tossing the covers aside, she pulled on a pair of bright red socks with rubber soles, then padded to the kitchen. _Good, use that._ After setting the water on to boil, she shook frozen beans of cinnamon flavored Viennese roast into the grinder. _Better make eight cups._ Knowing he preferred his coffee rich and dark, she set up an old-style Melita pot, then rubbed the ache in her right arm.

They could drive to each other's places in ten minutes or less, anymore, so she expected his knock at any time. As she poured boiling water into the filter, she heard a soft tapping, put the kettle down, then walked to the door. Her partner was standing in the hall, looking orphaned and lost, so she took him by the elbow to gently guide him inside.

Once the door closed, he whimpered as he hugged her tightly.

As she wrapped her arms around his back, she could tell he was still shaking. _It must have been bad._ Whispering soothing words, Scully reached up to his face, but the horror in his eyes stopped her. "Mulder?"

He gulped several times before he found his voice. Even then, he could only manage a hoarse whisper. "I'm sorry, Scully."

She looked into his eyes steadily. _What do you have to be sorry for?_

He chewed his lower lip before he spoke. "It's all my fault."

Her brow crinkled. _What is it now, Mulder? Yeltsin's alcohol problems? The Stock Market Crash of 1929? The Bermuda Triangle?_ She tugged on his elbow. "It's okay, come into the kitchen with me. The coffee should be ready soon."

Releasing her, Mulder followed his partner as she walked away.

Scully could feel his hand on her back. _He's really scared about something._ Once they were in her kitchen, she turned out a chair, but he refused it. As she moved around the room, pulling down the crockery and setting out the sugar and milk for him to flavor his cup as he wished, she stopped.

She realized Mulder was not helping her in the kitchen as he usually did. Instead, he was shadowing her as closely as her Pomeranian used to when she would first return home from a case. _We've only been apart for a few hours!_ Puzzled, she spooned in sugar for him, then poured milk into both their over-sized mugs before adding the coffee.

He silently took the one she held out.

They sat facing each other, as they had in countless diners, on endless stakeouts, and at this table during the previous five years.

"Scully?"

She met his gaze. _Finally, he was ready to talk._ "Tell me about it, Mulder, please. It doesn't take a degree in psychology to see you're all torn up about something."

Frowning, he stared at the coffee in his cup while his face reddened and cleared. "Am I a bad person?"

If the question had not been asked in such deadly earnest, she would have laughed it off with one of the droll quips she was learning he loved her to administer. Instead, she covered the hand that lay on the table with her own. "No, Mulder, you're not." She squeezed his palm. "I'm listening."

He sighed. "I was on trial, Scully. I was being tried for everything I ever did wrong, from one time as a kid when I tripped and dropped some China to running off and jumping on that train in West Virginia." He paused. "I couldn't defend myself." He looked up, as alone and afraid as when he entered her apartment. "I could only stand there, saying 'Yes, yes, I did it.', but every time I confessed, someone else was punished in my place. They hurt Sam, you, my parents, Max, your Mom, Melissa, even Skinner."

They snorted at the thought. _Walter Skinner, scapegoat._

"Everybody but me, Scully, everyone I've ever known was punished *but* me. All the dreams we had this past week told us something about ourselves." He swallowed. "Does this one count too?"

Scully shook her head. "We both had our usual abduction nightmares while on stake-out, remember?"

"Oh." Embarrassed, he studied their hands.

Scully nodded to herself. _He hadn't thought about that._

"So you're saying this is a variation on my usual beat-myself-up-in-my-sleep dream?"

She lifted one corner of her mouth. "Right-oh, partner, you've even managed to wrap in our last case, if you think about it."

He raised his head once, then let his chin fall to his chest.

Releasing his hand, she leaned forward. "Either that, or you're just looking for an excuse for some female companionship that isn't two-dimensional." She waited, but there was no return jibe, so she tapped his wrist. "Two-dimensional and stacked like Traci Lords?"

Although one corner of his mouth twitched, he did not lift his eyes to hers.

Mentally, she reviewed the events of the past year, until she found herself standing again in the small hotel room that so concerned her partner the first night they were in Fordyce. _Talk to him, Dana._ "Mulder, you've been so very decent and gentle with me, and I'm more grateful than you can know for our friendship, so don't take this the wrong way when I ask. You're a normal man with a healthy libido, but I've only ever seen you pay attention to Doctor Berenbaum and Detective White."

He meet her gaze, his eyes clear of the night terror, desperately thankful for the support and consideration she showed by changing to a far more comfortable subject. Making a trip to the counter to top off his mug, he realized he had wanted to share some of these things with her for a long time.

After he sat, he looked over at his closest friend. "Yeah, the last woman I spent any significant time with other than you was Phoebe Green. You are right to think I was enslaved to her. I never knew what she wanted, or how to please her, and Lord knows I tried. Before she came back, I thought I was over her, but that case with L'Ively showed me I wasn't. In those few hours I seriously considered Bambi, all my old fears and feelings of inadequacy rose to the surface again. Even though we weren't on the best of terms then, being able to call you, just to tell you that dumb story about the praying mantis, helped me fight those emotions off and stay sane." He smiled quickly at the memory. "I knew after that I'm not ready for a relationship with anyone, and these days, casual stuff is life-threatening."

Scully nodded, keeping silent so he would continue.

He bounced his fist on the quilted placemat, his eyes guarded and afraid again. "I have no idea what I was thinking with Detective White. I said and did some really stupid things there." He considered his words carefully before he canted his face at her. "Scully, your friendship means more to me than I can say as well. I haven't had all that many in my life, and to have someone I can talk to whenever you or I need it..." Mulder reddened.

Walking over to the counter to refill her mug, she gave him a little space to compose himself.

When she resumed her seat, he was calm again.

She took a single sip before she began. "Mulder, when I hallucinated I was talking to your father last month, he said Phoebe had put beasts in your soul."

Unzipping his jacket, he slid out of his padded corduroy coat. He had come straight over from his futon, so he was in his sweats and an undershirt, with his boots only loosely laced. "Well, that was less of an hallucination than you think, Scully; he was right about the beasts." Studying her face, he was surprised at how somber she was, so he squeezed her hand again, releasing it slowly. "You accept me for who I am and we've agreed to disagree without letting it come between us. As a result, we've become good friends, something Phoebe and I never were. I had always hoped that our physical intimacy would lead to a full relationship, but with her, everything was a game or a puzzle to solve." He stared at his coffee. "She was, well, wild. She gave me marks." His partner started to frown, but he shook his head. "Not those kind, *grades*. She would rate our-" He shifted uncomfortably. "-well, you know."

Eyes wide, Scully started. "Mulder! That's horrid! How could you love her when she did that to you?" She folded her hands in her lap to stare at them. "I mean, I understand how you would be attractive for a woman, but ..." As he chuckled, she looked up to see him smirking.

"Do tell, Agent Scully."

"You've done me the favor of not considering me ugly, but frankly, I don't see why all the women in the Bureau aren't falling at your feet."

He closed his eyes, raised the mug, then sipped the brown liquid slowly. His thoughts collected, he opened simply. "Yeah." He shrugged. "Work is different, you know that. Dating someone at the office, even if it's just a secretary in some far-distant division, leads to nothing but trouble. I've seen it tear groups up, Scully." He lifted his eyes to hers. "I know agents have married at the Bureau, but it's always toughest on the woman involved. Even if they don't have kids, her career slows down or she drops to a less risky job, and that's not right." A sorrowful expression crossed his face as she watched. "I'm sorry you being partnered with me has held you back. You really could become the Director, you know."

She shook her head. _Thanks, Mulder._ "No, you haven't held me back; I've been challenged by the cases we've worked on, which is what I wanted when I was assigned to you." She leaned forward, hoping to keep him from his self-loathing. "Sometimes job satisfaction counts for as much as a big office and a fancy title."

He tried to muster a crooked grin in gratitude.

She chewed her lip before she continued. "You loved Phoebe so completely, Mulder, she could rope you back in even after ten years apart."

He ran his hand through his hair. _You'll never understand Phoebe, Scully. Don't try._ "I've never told you everything about her, and I'm not sure I ever will. But when she came back, I found myself hoping she had tired of her, her *activities*, that she would let us be together, but she never wanted that. It was just another opportunity for her to play her games. I hope she settles down enough with this new guy." He looked over at her. "Max said they were engaged, you know."

Scully raised an eyebrow. "No, I didn't know." She leaned forward. "Here's hoping it takes, Mulder, then she'll leave you alone forever."

He had fallen silent beginning to chew his lip, but she wanted him to keep talking, to keep sharing. With all the coming changes, these deep conversations would be too few and far between.

He nodded. "Yeah. You've been good to me, Scully. I wish we weren't trapped in the situation we're in right now, with the Shadows convulsing and all the new job pressures. We could both have used an extra week in Florida, especially after what happened at the Ranch. Max gave me a set of keys so if the weather or the politics is too much this winter, we can escape if we want." His eyes narrowed, then he pointed his chin at her. "What about you? You've never talked much about your past life. What about Jack Willis?"

She let her eyes wander over the room. "I thought we were here to talk about you, Mulder."

He grinned. "Helping me has taken up so much of your energy lately, Scully." He reached over to tug gently on her sleeve, avoiding her bandaged arm. "Your turn."

"Jack was a good man, but he didn't push us into a heavily physical relationship." She shrugged. "Sure, we kissed and cuddled, but he never wanted us to become too serious, and we never, well..." Her partner greeted this news with a grin and a raised eyebrow. "Like you, he knew the damage a long-term involvement would be to a woman starting a career at the FBI." She leaned back, rubbing her feet against each other in the thick socks to warm them, then crossed her arms over her chest. "Remember when I said I was no nun?" She watched for his nod. "Well, technically, I guess I could qualify, but with all that's happened to me, it hardly seems to matter anymore."

Deeply concerned, he left his seat to take the one beside her. "Scully, are you all right?"

She sighed, nodding. "But I have to face facts, Mulder, my body has changed since the surgery. I try to keep healthy with the exercise and the diet, but I don't expect anyone would ever want me." She stood, facing away from him. "Men want whole women who can give them children, not mutilated shells with implants that may develop cancer at any time." She walked over to the doorway, leaning against the frame, facing into her living room. "As for the other, well, any intimacy with me now would require patience and tenderness, qualities that are in short supply in most men."

Mulder shifted in his seat, wanting to voice a denial, then forced himself to keep silent.

She flicked aimlessly at a loose spot of paint on the door. "Which is for the best, I guess. I never really thought much about dating or relationships when I was in high school or college, except to occasionally wonder what other girls had that I didn't. My life was too full of studying and keeping up with Mel and my brothers." Scully looked up at her father's mug beside the ceramic Pomeranian. "That's part of the problem with being short. You always feel like you're running just to stay with everyone else, and sometimes it was easier being on my own so I didn't slow anybody down." Falling silent, she listened to her partner's deep, regular breathing.

Scully closed her eyes, wondering whether her dark mood was a function of the time of year or of the weariness she felt. _So much for he wants to help me with my problems, Mr. Mulder, my life story is so boring he's fallen asleep. I knew it was just an hallucination._ She opened them and turned, expecting to see his head on the table, but he had been standing beside her, his dark eyes full of sympathy and caring.

Mulder brushed her cheek with his fingertips, but Scully could not read the thoughts behind his pained expression. "I've never forgiven myself for that crack about your little feet at Comity. You've worked so hard to overcome the limitations you see up there-" He touched her forehead in gentle rebuke. "-that you're capable of things most people twice your size aren't. I know it's rough for you sometimes, and that you wear out, too." She started to back away, but he clamped down firmly on her shoulder. "I want you to know I'll be there for you then, Scully. You always tell me it's all right to need someone else's help, and it is, for *both* of us. This partnership thing is a two-way street."

Scully crossed her arms. "Mul - "

His face intense from the memory, he shook his head, silencing her. "I almost killed you last month after you saved me from my own foolishness *again*, and I've had my own share of lost sleep over what I did."

She frowned and inhaled to give voice her concern.

He held up his hand, releasing her. "I finally worked my way through the guilt by promising myself never to let you to be hurt by anyone, ever, not with words, nor by actions." He bent over until their noses were level. "I *know* you can take care of yourself, Pallas Athena, and me in the bargain, but if you find someone for real, he'd better be good to you. So help me, if he isn't, I'll hound him to the ends of the earth."

She lifted one corner of her mouth in gratitude, wondering if her own brothers would show such concern for their serious sister.

Mulder walked back to sit at the table, crossing his arms. "Things will change at the office with the new agents and the expanded section, but I never want anything to come between us. I like your idea of the lunches twice a week, just for us. Losing you would be like losing half my soul."

As she turned in the doorway to look over her shoulder at him, she released her breath in a sigh. "Cynthia is already utterly baffled by you, Mulder, but don't worry about losing me. Work and the X-Files, even with the Shadows, are the best they've ever been, so much so that if I were a superstitious person-" She paused, wrinkling her nose at his smirk. "-I'd be worried that something is going to happen to one of us, and that usually means you. I'll do my part to make this transition as easy for you as possible, even though as Section Head, you'll be putting up with the majority of the political nonsense. Losing you would be like losing the better half of myself, the part I trust more than any other."

Crossing over the space between them, he leaned gently against her back. _I'm not going anywhere._ "Good. Then between us we're a whole person. I like that." He stepped away to see her face. "You don't trust your Mom?"

She rubbed the floor with the ball of her foot. "Of course, but right now, we need some space. She feels guilty about what happened in Miami with the man from the Shadows, even though I told her it wasn't her fault, that they could try to kill us at any time."

"I'm sorry something's come between you and Mrs. Scully. She needs you as much as you need her. Would it help if I called her?"

She smiled again. "No, thank you though, Mulder, we'll work this out when the time is right." Thinking the subject closed, Scully hugged herself against the cold.

But he was patting her shoulder gently. "I don't mean to push you, but you need to hold on to as much as you can of your family and a normal social life. I have to find Sam and bring her back safe, but that means I've left so much undone."

She raised her eyebrows. "There are very few things I know for certain anymore, but one of them is that you *will* find her."

Reading the resolute look on her face, he returned a broad smile of gratitude, but gestured for her to continue.

She nodded. "But I've always worried about why you seek out the approval of people who are no good for you." As the expression faded, she met his now confused eyes. "Your Mother and I talked in Miami, and she told me what your Father did to you, Mulder. I've already watched Phoebe wind you up in knots." She shook her head. "I'm no better, I guess. It seems I'm perpetually yelling at you or beating you up, like they did."

He growled his disagreement. "They did it because it made them feel good to play games with my mind; you and I argue because we have strong opinions on many things, which is fine. I wouldn't want you any other way, Scully. You've never let me down when I've needed you, really and truly, even back to the case at Ellens Air Force Base right after we started working together."

She stared up at a needlepoint image of a sunrise, framed and mounted on her kitchen wall. It was one of the few handicraft projects her sister had tried, the only personal item she had left from Mel. "But I couldn't reach you in time to keep you from jumping off the bridge onto that train, Mulder; X had to go in for you, I couldn't. To make things worse, I've shot you, slugged you, and broken your ribs."

Although her reply was whispered, he sensed her regret in the marrow of his bones. He turned her chin with his finger and tapped her nose. "Now who's obsessing, Scully, you're not Diana Prince, you know. All the times you've caused me physical pain, it was a choice between that or my death, and I'd rather be alive to have you pick me up and scold me afterwards. I'm sorry we fought over what was in that boxcar. Without further evidence, we can't determine whether it was alien or human."

She lifted one corner of her mouth. "I know, Mulder. Although with the D'Amato documents, I'm really starting to wonder..."

Feeling the cold as well, he smiled as he wrapped his arms around himself. "Whether old Spooky might be right?"

She shrugged. "No, whether we shouldn't provide a select group of people outside the Bureau limited access to our files."

"Oh?"

Her excitement propelling her, she circled the table. "I know they are classified as internal documents only, but the D'Amato papers have people talking, studying, thinking. I've tried over the years to record as fully as possible what we think we've experienced, with plausible explanations when I could think them up. I don't know whether it's the fatigue or not, but lately it seems so hard for me to make sense of it all. I'm glad we're getting help, Mulder, but we need to train them ourselves."

He tipped his head. "How?"

"To try to do what I should have been doing from the start, to keep an open mind, to write everything down, and not prejudge the evidence. That's tough for a scientist, because usually one needs a theory to guide the search for data. I haven't been able to explain everything we've seen, but some day, if I can just make accurate enough descriptions, someone will."

Mulder walked over to stand in front of her, then wrapped her face with both of his hands, his eyes glistening. "That's all I've ever wanted from you. Thank you."

The overhead kitchen light flickered and failed.

Sighing, she crossed to the table beneath it, and stepped up on the seat of one of the chairs. "I'll have to speak to the Landlord; I think the fixture's going. That's the third time in a month I've lost one." Using her sleeve as insulation, she loosened the hot bulb. "Mulder, would you pass me ..." As he put a hand on her back, she stopped to look at his face.

He beckoned to her in a come-down gesture. "Sure. You still keep the bulbs in the hall closet?" Mulder guided Scully to the floor, holding her by her waist, not her torn arms.

"Um-hum." As she followed him, she glanced into the living room. "Mulder, it's snowing!" Scully walked to the window.

After changing the bulb, he joined her there, where she smiled her gratitude up at his amused eyes.

Mulder brushed her shoulders with his fingertips. "Oh, great, I hope your milk is still good."

"It wasn't supposed to start until Sunday."

He looked out over her head. "Well, never believe the forecasts in Washington, DC." Flopping on the sofa, he dug around behind her cushions for the remote control. _For such a neat person, I'm always amazed how easily she loses this._

She joined him as he searched the channels.

"Where's the Weather Channel again?"

Scully held his wrist with one hand, plucking the remote from his fingers with the other, cocking an eyebrow at his frown of protest as she did. "Try the 24 hour local news station. Here." She dropped the black unit on the table as the figure on the screen was waving his hand over a map of the local area. The numbers written on the square in the center read '18" to 24".'

They groaned.

Scully shifted to face him. "Well, Mulder, you might as well make yourself at home."

He pushed himself off the sofa, secretly delighted at the turn of events.

When he returned from the hall closet, pillow in hand, she stood. "We'll sleep in the rest of the morning, for certain. You know the government will shut down."

As she headed for the kitchen, he unlaced his boots. "Oh, Scully?"

She turned. "Hum?"

He looked up to her, suddenly anxious again. "Is it okay if I call my Mom from your place? I'll pay."

She nodded. "Sure, Mulder, and don't worry about the cost. I use your phone and water often enough. She's all right, isn't she?"

"Yeah, I just promised to say in touch and ..."

Now she smiled broadly as she retrieved the phone from the bedroom. "Go ahead, Mulder, and talk as long as you want. Say Hi to her and to Max for me, all right?"

Grinning, he took the unit.

Scully stepped into the kitchen. She wanted to clean the coffee pot and mugs before turning in for the rest of the night, so when he woke, he could fix his flavorful African coffee himself. Since they were working at each other's apartments together so often, their refrigerators and pantries were beginning to stock the same goods. _Knowing him, he'll make it so strong you'll bounce around the place until he drags you outside to make snowmen or something._ She frowned at her thoughts. _Why are you upset that he would want to play and tease with you, Dana? All the time you were growing up, you wanted nothing more from your brothers than to be included. Don't take yourself as seriously as all that._

-o-0-o-

Lowenberg Residence  
Santorini, Greece  
Friday, 10:01 am

Caroline Lowenberg hurried in from the back deck to catch the phone in the living room. She heard a man's cough when she placed the receiver against her ear.

"Mom?"

Caroline's breath hitched. It was the same inflection her son always used when he stood outside her bedroom door, bearing a meal on a tray, tentative, yet querulous.

Her husband entered from the office, waiting. Max smiled, sharing her joy when she identified the caller.

"Fox!" She sat. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Mom, I am. I just wanted to see how your flight went. Are you and Max okay?"

"Yes, Fox, we are. We didn't see anyone suspicious once we left the States. Son, it must be four in the morning in DC. Couldn't you sleep?"

"Um, well, ..."

"Son, tell me, are you really all right?"

"Yeah. I had a dream, that's all, so I came over to Scully's to talk."

"Oh, give Dana my love. How was the rest of your stay in Miami?"

"Hunh." A pause. "Mom, we're okay. I'll send you an E-mail." Another pause. "I think you and Max should plan on staying on the Island for a while."

"Sure, Fox. Just stay in touch, all right?"

"Yeah. It's strange, Mom, after all these years, to talk about the Island again."

"I know, Fox. But it's a different Island. You and Dana, if she wants, should come for a visit soon. I know how depressing winter can be, but here, it's wonderful. What's the noise?"

"Oh, that. Scully's taking a bath. We got back late from a case, and it's snowing. The apartment's still cold, too. Scully turned the heat down while we were in Arkansas, and it's an old unit, so it takes a while to warm the rooms back up."

"It's snowing?"

"Yeah, the forecast is for two feet by morning. You know how it goes in DC. No one expects the January snowstorm."

She laughed. _This is the longest phone conversation we've had in years._ "Fox, I won't fuss. But, tell me, did you talk to Margaret any?"

"Yeah. I know what you're referring to, Mom." A sigh. "I don't think she'll be hassling Scully anytime soon." A cough. "I'll write you about it, okay?"

"Of course, Fox." _Something must have gone wrong. But Dana's fine, or Margaret would have called._

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"May I speak with Max?"

"Sure." She passed the receiver to her husband. "He wants to talk to you, Dear."

He nodded. "Hello, Mulder."

"Hey." A pause. "Max? Thanks for talking to Mrs. Scully. She'd been pushing Scully pretty hard lately."

Max frowned for a moment, wondering how his stepson could keep his partner's family straight in his mind if he called them all Scully. "It's no problem, Mulder. You and Dana are trying to survive through a very troubled situation. Even though she's a wonderful person, Margaret's only had to deal with the home side of life, so she doesn't grasp your difficulties."

"Yeah." A long silence. "Max, I don't want to say too much over the phone..."

"I understand, Mulder. Just keep in touch. We really only need to know that you and Dana are fine, if that's all you can do. I've made some contacts myself on certain other matters, and I'll send some information your way as soon as I can, all right?"

"Oh?"

"Nothing yet, but there are more groups I want to access." Max looked over at his wife. "Mulder, I'm sorry, but we have a meeting in fifteen minutes. I'll have to turn you back over to Caroline. Take care, all right?"

"Yeah." He heard a brooding sadness in the falling tone. "Bye."

Max handed the phone back to Caroline, kissing her cheek as he did so. "I'll see you at the car, Dear."

She nodded. "Fox?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll have to sign off, too."

"Is this about her, Mom?"

"It might be, Son. You two look out for each other, all right?"

"Sure. Bye."

-o-0-o-

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Friday, 3:12 am

Dana Scully heard her partner's voice over the running water, but the two sounds blended until the words were indistinct. Satisfied with the temperature, she settled down, sinking in up to her nose. This was the second time in as many months that she had sought to lose her winter's chill in this antique treasure.

_We have to stop with these freezing cases._ She thought back to the bug from the ice they had encountered when she first started working with Mulder. Had it been of extraterrestrial origin, as he had believed, or just another Arctic organism, albeit a strange one, desperately seeking to propagate, as most things in the frozen wastes had to? With the destruction of the base camp, they would never know.

That was the first time he had reached out for her, after having been locked in the storage bin. _Even then, Dana, he needed your trust._ They had held guns on each other, uncertain whose body was harboring the worm. Once she had prodded and poked his neck, longer than was absolutely necessary, but she had to be *sure*, she had turned to leave. He had held her, checked her neck, then leaned against her, before the door burst open.

Even that early on, she should have known he was desperate for some human contact, some connection between him and the rest of humanity. _Well, stop running away, Dana, he isn't after your body. You've told Susan, and your Mom, that he's your partner, your friend, now make the words true._ She held her nose as she dunked herself, rubbing her hair vigorously to wet it. Once she emerged, she worked in the rosemary shampoo, smiling at his earlier curiosity. Scully knew they were deeply interconnected now, which was how partners were supposed to be to function well, but there were times she wanted it to be just herself, Dana Scully, but no one else. Dunking again, she scrubbed her hair free of the cleanser, re-emerging to continue her bath, lost in her reverie.

_That's not fair, and you know it._ All the way through Medical School, her schedule had kept her so busy she had not had time to socialize, except for the rare occasions she and Susan talked after classes. At Quantico, she had been so distant from the other trainees she had earned the nickname 'Ice Queen', but there had been no one there who challenged her, to draw her out. Then she had been assigned to Mulder. His outrageous statements, spoken with absolute conviction, had brought out all the old feistiness she thought she had carefully hidden away under a professional facade of calm detachment.

Initially, she had been so furious with him she had not realized how much he was challenging her. She had just launched attack after attack, but fascinated by their cases, had not left him. Nor had he sent her away, which he could very well have done. Somewhere in those first years she had realized just how bright he really was, so she had sought to persuade him, to convince him. But he had fired back, until they achieved a degree of respect for each other like nothing they felt for anyone either had known. Scully rose from the tub, drying herself. While slipping into her sweats again, she frowned.

_My brother, yet not my brother. Was that the problem, the next intellectual hurdle to be crossed?_ To her, a brother was a distant creature who either ignored her or pushed her aside. Bill Jr., once she started school, had taken no more interest in her than in frilly, feminine Melissa, despite her efforts to distance herself from the older girl. For Charlie, she had been dreaded competition, someone he *had* to beat in schoolwork or games to claim his parents' attention. But, for neither of them was she a friend or someone worthy of much notice or energy. Her mother had given her as much love and care as was fair for a woman who had four children and a beloved husband, gone at sea much of the time.

For her mostly absent Ahab, she had been the favorite, his Starbuck. This had not helped with her brothers, who considered her an interloper, the thief who had taken what should have been rightfully theirs, their father's time and attention.

_But how can I tell Mulder that a brother for me does not mean the same thing it does for him?_ To him, being a brother was being bodyguard, caretaker, and friend. He adored his long-lost sister, his Sam, and she knew he considered their relationship similar in many ways. Scully could tell this in the way he looked down at her with concern and compassion when she wore out or needed a break, slowing his pace just enough for her to catch her breath. He also delighted in her jests, took pride in her successes, using those gentle touches of his to show support and affection for her. These were all things Scully would have loved her brothers to do for her, but when she could not have them, she closed herself off from needing them. _Well, Dana, you have them now. Enjoy them, and don't begrudge giving your partner support back for his efforts._

_Was that the real wedge that threatened to appear, whenever the crisis or danger passed?_ Each being denied the things they desired most, they chose to need nothing at all, to be outsiders when they desperately wanted to be included in something, by someone? _Perhaps so, Dana._ Well, they could be insiders in a society of two, and soon, if all went well at the Bureau, a few others. She would have to do her share of the work, to not cringe when he held a door for her, to thank him for his aid, rather than push the help away or take it for granted when offered. _Starting now, Dana._ Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, then headed for the living room.

-o-0-o-

Fox Mulder lifted his head off the pillow at the sound of his partner's soft approach. "Scully?"

She turned on the light behind him, so he was not blinded before his eyes adjusted, but he blinked rapidly regardless. "Mulder, I need your help."

He snapped to attention as she unconsciously repeated the words that had so devastated him when they came from his answering machine. The sight of her holding out scissors, gauze, and tape, elicited a relieved grin and a jest. "No Bride of the Mummy fears?"

She shrugged as he swung his feet to the floor. "It takes two hands. I can't rewrap my arms myself." She sat on the coffee table, facing him, while he cut the soggy bandages away. "I'll need to rewrap you after your shower tomorrow."

"Do you want me to treat these, Doctor Scully?"

She examined the holes for unusual puffiness or discoloration. "No, just bandages." She paused. "Please."

Delighted that she would finally ask for his aid, he rewrapped her arm, wrist, and hand with practiced ease and a gentle touch.

Scully observed, again, how genuinely happy taking care of someone made her quick-witted partner. _He really misses her._ Once he had finished, she leaned forward enough so he raised his eyes to meet hers. "How are your Mom and Max?"

Mulder grinned, pulling his feet up, so she could sit and they could talk. He watched the changing lights from the television reflect off her eyes, then the spherical mirrors were covered by pale lids, while she tucked her bare feet under herself. "Oh, okay. They may have some leads on Sam."

She smiled, broadly and happily. "That's great, Mulder." She froze. "But you don't look pleased."

After pulling the Maya blanket over his legs, he wrapped his arms around his knees. "I am, Scully, but I'm also surprised. I've looked so long with so little success, and here they may have found something."

She leaned forward. "You always saw yourself as Sir Galahad, not Sir Lancelot, I take it?"

He regarded her levelly. _When did she start reading my mind?_ "Yeah."

"But Mulder, if they find her, she's back and she's yours again."

Rubbing his eyes, he snorted. "Okay, Scully, I see your point. But I wanted it to be me, that's all."

"Mulder! Don't give up so easily!" She dropped her voice. "It may still be you."

He shook his head. "Or us together. That's what your father told me." Turning the pillow on end, he leaned against it. "I like this thought of us finding her together." As he played with the roll of gauze on the table, his voice dropped. "Our friendship feels like it was when Sam was with me. We were rarely apart, especially when she had nightmares, which was often. I've never told you, but her greatest fear was of monsters hovering over her, bed vultures, she called them, and when she floated out that window..." Gritting his teeth, he stared at his knees while he willed his tears away.

"I'm honored, Mulder."

He frowned.

"Don't be surprised. I've figured that out about you years ago. Until you find Sam, I'm the next best thing. Most women would be insulted, but you love your sister more than your own life, and even if I rate a little bit against her-" She shifted on the cushions. "-well, as I said, I'm honored you think of us as similar." She gave him one of her radiant, full smiles, then he felt his dark mood lift. "I'm also grateful that you've shared that part of your life with me. You used to think Sam was your own personal punishment for living, but now you'll tell me about your time with her, and you want me to help you find her."

He was quiet, lost in his thoughts, until he shook his head and focused on her, wearing another one of his unreadable looks. "No, that's not true, so stop belittling yourself." He frowned at his ironic turn of phrase. "I mean, yes, you are like Sam in many ways, good ways, but you're my friend and partner, first and foremost. Never forget what I'm about to say: I won't give up the X-Files and ditch you just because I find her. Every one of our investigations raises more questions than answers, and I'd like us to completely resolve some of these cases to both our satisfactions, before we retire."

Scully turned away quickly, as Mulder watched her struggle to control her emotions. Waiting until her shaking had diminished, he moved close to her, then slid his hand up and down her spine.

She began to stiffen, to pull away, but stopped. _Starting *right* now, Dana._ She lifted her eyes to his face and her breath caught. Her tall friend was regarding her with a look of regret and loss that tore at her heart. "You miss her every day, don't you?"

Nodding, he drew a few breaths to steady himself, slid back to his end of the sofa, then began absently twisting the fringe on the brightly colored cover. "Sometimes just a little, and sometimes, it's as if she was taken yesterday." Finding himself almost overcome, he stared down at his lap.

She leaned forward. "Mulder, I know I'm not her, but ..."

Moving the blanket aside, he held out his arm, a tiny grin pricking at one corner of his lips, under eyes that still looked a thousand years old. _She understands._

Scully rested her head against Mulder's hip, then curled her sore arm over his legs.

Grasping her shoulder, he rubbed circles in the joint with his thumb, then with both hands worked his way down to her bandaged wrist. _Maybe this will help her some with those aches._ He tucked the variegated blanket behind her back until she was covered against the cold.

In a few minutes, her breathing evened out, but before she drifted completely to sleep, he heard a soft, 'Thank you, Mulder.' The words warmed him as no full-force August blast could.

-o-0-o-

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Friday, 10:47 am

Dana Scully smelled pancakes and coffee. _Oh, great, Mom's fixing my favorite breakfast. Ahab must be coming home today._ She inhaled deeply, then caught another scent on the pillow that had been placed under her head. _Mulder?_ She turned onto her back, opening one green-blue eye.

Her partner's face appeared in her vision. "Hey, Grey-Eyes! I never knew this deathless goddess business was so taxing. It's a good thing OPM closed the government today for you. Can a mere mortal interest you in something other than ambrosia and nectar for breakfast?" He bowed, lifting his head at her chortling.

"Sure, Mulder. And these were all done by divine fiat, so ..." She walked towards her kitchen, visions of batter dripping off the ceiling uppermost in her mind. She stopped so suddenly in the doorway that he bounced off her back.

The room was spotless, the places set, the coffee on a trivet in the center of the table. The griddle cakes were stacked neatly on a tray, steam rising from them. He had even cooked down several apples to use as a sweetener in addition to his preference from his time in England, nutmeg syrup.

Scully was stunned. _I don't believe this._

Mulder rested his hand on her shoulder, so she swiveled. "Thank you for last night, Scully. We need to talk more like that."

Impulsively, she turned and squeezed him, whispering her thanks as she remembered all the times he had been there for her.

Overwhelmed by the gratitude his normally undemonstrative partner was expressing, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. When she did not release him immediately, he held her a little tighter. Finally, he sent his thanks in a joke. "If I knew my cooking affected you this way, I'd do it every chance I get."

She patted his shoulder, then stepped back.

Before they sat, he prepared the coffee for both of them, passing her a mug as he took his place on the other side of the table. Except for her occasional compliments, which he accepted with a bowed head, the partners ate in silence.

When most of the stack of pancakes was gone, he leaned back. "Since we're trapped here for the weekend, you'll be happy to know I stopped by the office on the way home from the airport..."

While forcing the last bite down, Scully cocked an eyebrow. "What, you brought over new X-Files?"

He shrugged. "Sorry, no. Just the records on our prospective candidates."

She nodded. "We can look those over after breakfast." _No, Dana, not work._ Scully sighed, furious with herself for being so absorbed.

He caught her anger, then cringed.

She shook her head. "No, Mulder, we won't look those personnel files over after breakfast. We'll be here all weekend, and be making guesses as to their great grandmothers' liver ailments before this development is plowed. We can have a little fun first."

He relaxed, settling in for rousing badinage. "Ooh, and here I thought you virgin goddesses didn't go in for *that* kind of recreation."

She placed her fork on her plate. "We don't. However, this red-haired doctor thinks a free snow day, thanks to two unpredicted feet, too good to waste." She poked him in the chest. "I intend, with the assistance of a certain monster-hunter I know, to spend the better part of the afternoon building the biggest snow alien we possibly can, if he is so inclined."

Mulder's eyes were positively luminescent with delight. "Doctor Scully, your well-punctured partner thinks that's the best offer he's had in a long time, except for one slight problem." He stared pointedly at his undershirt. "Frostbite."

She shook her head. "No challenge too great for a Goddess of Wisdom. I have a pair of gloves Ahab left here once, and your brown sweater you loaned me."

He grinned. "Works for me. So, dishes?"

"No, today, I'm coloring outside the lines."

He rose, dropping his plate in the sink as a matter of habit. "Now I know I've affected you, Scully."

"More than you think, Mulder."

-o-0-o-

Alexandria, VA  
Friday, 3:52 pm

Edgar Johnson stopped the snowplow long enough to take a swig of coffee from his thermos. The snow that had fallen was heavy and dense, perfect for snowballs and snowmen, but terrible to push. Multicolored lights caught his eye, so he stepped down from the cab to take a better look. _What next!_ On the front lawn of the apartment complex across the street, a tall man and a red-haired woman were stringing Christmas lights around a mound of snow, formed into what looked like a flying saucer. He shook his head. _That must have been work for two over-educated yuppies._

He could see the orange extension cord strung back to a window in one of the ground-floor apartments, so the lights were flashing as they wound the cable around the saucer's edge. As the woman moved over to where the man stood, his arms crossed, Edgar glimpsed a snowman, but it was one of the fakey creatures he had seen on 'Alien Autopsy' or some other show his kids always had on. _Now I've seen it all!_

Climbing back into the cab, he caught the words they were speaking as their voices carried in the stillness.

"What do you think, Scully?"

"I hate to say it, Mulder, but it looks good enough that we may have to open an X-File on it to please the media."

"Nah, I think they've seen weirder stuff."

As he turned the engine over, Edgar shook his head. _Maybe, but not often._ Checking one final time, he saw in his side-view mirror the man and woman, walking back to the building together, her hand slipped through his arm. Edgar frowned at the woman's words. _What, someone actually studies those crazy things? Must be from the government. He hoped it wasn't the FBI._

-o-Finis-o-

Rustic Suite

=====o=====================================================o=====

Released to ATXC: 7/10/96

Well, that's that. Comments and constructive criticisms are always welcome; I hope this one soared like "War of the Coprophages," and didn't groan like "Syzygy." I had intended this little story as a tribute to the sorely missed Darin Morgan, so I attempted to include as many references to his four wonderful episodes as I could. Also, I tried to follow his lead of using humor to reveal deep truths about our two lead characters.

I always love to hear from my readers, regardless, and when I'm not totally swamped with work, I write back! (Which may frighten or encourage you, depending.) But, for the next few stories, I return to the Realm of Total Paranoia... (rubbing my hands together evilly like Dr. Clayton Forrester)

One final note: I have used the image of the wolf to represent the dark evil of legend that lurks and snarls. The real animal is nothing at all like its myth. There has been no documented case in North America of fatal human predation by wolves; in fact, coyotes do more damage to livestock and property than wolves ever did in our imaginations. The wolf pack is actually a family group that raises the young of the Alpha pair cooperatively, and avoids humans whenever possible. The wolf's chief food in the Arctic is mice. We should all hope the Yellowstone re-introduction program is a resounding success.

Acknowledgments: I'd like to thank Adina Ringler (again) for all her support and suggestions (we did it, he's in the maze, with no time travel), John Madigan for many long E-mails (in both directions) on Mulder's character, and Britton Trimble for our discussions on Margaret Scully.

=====o====================================================o=====


End file.
